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OLD   PORTRAITS 


AND 


MODERN   SKETCHES. 


-BY- 


Gr. 


NEW  YORK: 
HURST  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS. 

: 


TO   DR.   G.    BAILEY, 

OF    THE    NATIONAL    ERA, 

Washington,  D.  C. 

These  Sketches,  many  of  which  originally 
appeared  in  the  columns  of  the  paper  under 
his  editorial  supervision,  are,  in  their  present 
form,  offered  as  a  token  of  the  esteem  and 
confidence  which  years  of  political  and  literary 
communion  have  justified  and  confirmed,  on 
the  part  of  his  friend  and  associate, 

THE    AUTHOR, 


M149132 


CONTENTS. 


JOHN  BUNYAN,    -                                 -  *U 

THOMAS  ELLWOOD,  -           ....  3$ 

JAMES  NAYLER,  -           ....  69 

ANDREW  MARVELL,  -           -           -           -  88 

JOHN  ROBERTS,   -           -           -    '                  -  107 

SAMUEL  HOPKINS,      .....  134 

RICHARD  BAXTER,           ....  151 

WILLIAM  LEGGETT,    -----  191 

NATHANIEL  P.  ROGERS,            ...  225 

P^BERT    DlNSMORE,                                      *  255 


OLD   PORTRAITS 

AND 

MODERN    SKETCHES 


JOHN   BUNYAN. 

Wouldst  see 
A  man  i'  the  clouds,  and  hear  him  speak  to  thee? 

WHO  has  not  read  Pilgrim's  Progress?  Who  has 
not,  in  childhood,  followed  the  wandering  Christian 
on  his  way  to  the  Celestial  City?  Who  has  not  laid 
at  night  his  young  head  on  the  pillow,  to  paint  on 
the  walls  of  darkness  pictures  of  the  Wicket  Gate 
and  the  Archers,  the  Hill  of  Difficulty,  the  Lions 
and  Giants,  Doubting  Castle  and  Vanity  Fair,  the 
sunny  Delectable  Mountains  and  the  Shepherds, 
the  Black  River  and  the  wonderful  glory  beyond  it ; 
and  at  last  fallen  asleep,  to  dream  over  the  strange 
story,  to  hear  the  sweet  welcomings  of  the  sisters  at 
the  House  Beautiful,  and  the  song  of  birds  from  the 
window  of  that  "  upper  chamber  which  opened  to- 


PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

ward  the  sunrising?"  And  who,  looking  back  to 
the  green  spots  in  his  childish  experiences,  does  not 
bless  the  good  Tinker  of  Elstow  ? 

And  who,  that  has  reperused  the  Story  of  the 
Pilgrim  at  a  maturer  age,  and  felt  the  plummet  of 
its  truth  sounding  in  the  deep  places  of  the  soul, 
has  not  reason  to  bless  the  author  for  some  timely 
warning  or  grateful  encouragement?  Where  is  the 
scholar,  the  poet,  the  man  of  taste  and  feeling,  who 
does  not,  with  Cowper, 

Even  in  transitory  life's  late  day, 

Revere  the  man  whose  Pilgrim  marks  the  road 

And  guides  the  Progress  of  the  soul  to  God ! 

We  have  just  been  reading,  with  no  slight  degree 
of  interest,  that  simple  but  wonderful  piece  of  auto 
biography,  entitled  "  Grace  Abounding  to  the  Chief 
of  Sinners,"  from  the  pen  of  the  author  of  Pilgrim's 
Progress.  It  is  the  record  of  a  journey  more  terrible 
than  that  of  the  ideal  Pilgrim  ;  "  truth  stranger  than 
fiction";  the  painful  upward  struggling  of  a  spirit 
from  the  blackness  of  despair  and  blasphemy,  into 
the  high,  pure  air  of  Hope  and  Faith.  More  earnest 
words  were  never  written.  It  is  the  entire  unveiling 
of  a  human  heart;  the  tearing  off  of  the  fig-leaf  cov 
ering  of  its  sin.  The  voice  which  speaks  to  us  from 
these  old  pages  seems  not  so  much  that  of  a  denizen 
of  the  world  in  which  we  live,  as  of  a  soul  at  the 
last  solemn  confessional.  Shorn  of  all  ornament, 
simple  and  direct  as  the  contrition  and  prayer  of 
childhood,  when  for  the  first  time  the  Specter  of  Sin 
stands  by  its  bedside,  the  style  is  that  of  a  man  dead 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  9 

to  self-gratification,  careless  of  the  world's  opinion, 
and  only  desirous  to  convey  to  others,  in  all  truth 
fulness  and  sincerity,  the  lesson  of  his  inward  trials, 
temptations,  sins,  weaknesses,  and  dangers;  and  to 
give  glory  to  Him  who  had  mercifully  led  him 
through  all,  and  enabled  him,  like  his  own  Pilgrim, 
to  leave  behind  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death, 
the  snares  of  the  Enchanted  Ground,  and  the  terrors 
of  Doubting  Castle,  and  to  reach  the  land  of  Beulah, 
where  the  air  was  sweet  and  pleasant,  and  the  birds 
sang  and  the  flowers  sprang  up  around  him,  and  the 
Shining  Ones  walked  in  the  brightness  of  the  not 
distant  Heaven.  In  the  introductory  pages  he  says: 
"  I  could  have  dipped  into  a  style  higher  than  this 
in  which  I  have  discoursed,  and  could  have  adorned 
all  things  more  than  here  I  have  seemed  to  do;  but 
I  dared  not.  God  did  not  play  in  tempting  me; 
neither  did  I  play  when  I  sunk,  as  it  were,  into  a 
bottomless  pit,  when  the  pangs  of  hell  took  hold  on 
me ;  wherefore,  I  may  not  play  in  relating  of  them, 
but  be  plain  and  simple,  and  lay  down  the  thing  as 
it  was." 

This  book,  as  well  as  Pilgrim's  Progress,  was 
written  in  Bedford  Prison,  and  was  designed  es 
pecially  for  the  comfort  and  edification  of  his  "chil 
dren,  whom  God  had  counted  him  worthy  to  beget 
in  faith  by  his  ministry."  In  his  introduction  he 
tells  them,  that,  although  taken  from  them,  and  tied 
up,  "  sticking,  as  it  were,  between  the  teeth  of  the 
lions  of  the  wilderness,"  he  once  again,  as  before, 
from  the  top  of  Shemer  and  Hermon,  so  now,  from 


10  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

the  lion's  den  and  the  mountain  of  leopards,  would 
look  after  them  with  fatherly  care  and  desires  for 
their  everlasting  welfare.  "  If,"  said  he,  "  you  have 
sinned  against  light ;  if  you  are  tempted  to  blas 
pheme  ;  if  you  are  drowned  in  despair;  if  you  think 
God  fights  against  you  ;  or  if  Heaven  is  hidden  from 
your  eyes,  remember  it  was  so  with  your  father. 
But  out  of  all  the  Lord  delivered  me." 

He  gives  no  dates ;  he  affords  scarcely  a  clew  to 
his  localities ;  of  the  man,  as  he  worked,  and  ate, 
and  drank,  and  lodged  ;  of  his  neighbors  and  con 
temporaries  ;  of  all  he  saw  and  heard  of  the  world 
about  him,  we  have  only  an  occasional  glimpse,  here 
and  there,  in  his  narrative.  It  is  the  story  of  his  in 
ward  life  only  that  he  relates.  What  had  time  and 
place  to  do  with  one  who  trembled  always  with  the 
awful  consciousness  of  an  immortal  nature,  and 
about  whom  fell  alternately  the  shadows  of  hell  and 
the  splendors  of  heaven?  We  gather,  indeed,  from 
his  record,  that  he  was  not  an  idle  on-looker  in  the 
time  of  England's  great  struggle  for  freedom,  but  a 
soldier  of  the  Parliament,  in  his  young  years,  among 
the  praying  sworders  and  psalm-singing  pikemen,  the 
Greathearts  and  Holdfasts  whom  he  has  immortal 
ized  in  his  allegory;  but  the  only  allusion  which  he 
makes  to  this  portion  of  his  experience  is  by  way  of 
illustration  of  the  goodness  of  God  in  preserving  him 
on  occasions  of  peril. 

He  was  born  at  Elstow,  in  Bedfordshire,  in  1628; 
and,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  his  father's  house  was 
of  that  rank  which  is  the  meanest  and  most  despised 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  IE 

of  all  the  families  of  the  land."  His  father  was  a 
tinker,  and  the  son  followed  the  same  calling,  which 
necessarily  brought  him  into  association  with  the 
lowest  and  most  depraved  classes  of  English  society. 
The  estimation  in  which  the  tinker  and  his  occupa 
tion  were  held,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  may  be 
learned  from  the  quaint  and  humorous  description 
of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury.  "  The  tinker,"  saith  he, 
•"  is  a  movable,  for  he  hath  no  abiding  in  one  place ; 
he  seems  to  be  devout,  for  his  life  is  a  continual  pil 
grimage,  and  sometimes,  in  humility,  goes  barefoot, 
therein  making  necessity  a  virtue;  he  is  a  gallant, 
for  he  carries  all  his  wealth  upon  his  back;  or  a 
philosopher,  for  he  bears  all  his  substance  with  him. 
He  is  always  furnished  with  a  song,  to  which  his 
hammer,  keeping  tune,  proves  that  he  was  the  first 
founder  of  the  kettle-drum ;  where  the  best  ale  is, 
there  stands  his  music  most  upon  crotchets.  The 
companion  of  his  travel  is  some  foul,  sunburnt 
quean,  that,  since  the  terrible  statute,  has  recanted 
gipsyism,  and  is  turned  pedleress.  So  marches  he 
all  over  England,  with  his  bag  and  baggage ;  his 
conversation  is  irreprovable,  for  he  is  always  mend 
ing.  He  observes  truly  the  statutes,  and  therefore 
had  rather  steal  than  beg.  He  is  so  strong  an  enemy 
of  idleness,  that  in  mending  one  hole  he  would  rather 
make  three  than  want  work;  and  when  he  hath  done, 
he  throws  the  wallet  of  his  faults  behind  him.  His 
tongue  is  very  voluble,  which,  with  canting,  proves 
him  a  linguist.  He  is  entertained  in  every  place, 
yet  enters  no  farther  than  the  door,  to  avoid  suspi- 


12  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

cion.  To  conclude,  if  he  escape  Tyburn  and  Ban- 
bury,  he  dies  a  beggar." 

Truly,  but  a  poor  beginning  for  a  pious  life  was 
the  youth  of  John  Bunyan.  As  might  have  been 
expected,  he  was  a  wild,  reckless,  swearing  boy,  as 
his  father  doubtless  was  before  him.  "  It  was  my 
delight,"  says  he,  "  to  be  taken  captive  by  the  devil. 
I  had  few  equals,  both  for  cursing  and  swearing,  ly 
ing  and  blaspheming."  Yet,  in  his  ignorance  and 
darkness,  his  powerful  imagination  early  lent  terror 
to  the  reproaches  of  conscience.  He  was  scared, 
even  in  childhood,  with  dreams  of  hell  and  appari 
tions  of  devils.  Troubled  with  fears  of  eternal  fire, 
and  the  malignant  demons  who  fed  it  in  the  regions 
of  despair,  he  says  that  he  often  wished  either  that 
there  was  no  hell,  or  that  he  had  been  born  a  devil 
himself,  that  he  might  be  a  tormentor  rather  than 
one  of  the  tormented. 

At  an  early  age  he  appears  to  have  married.  His 
wife  was  as  poor  as  himself,  for  he  tells  us  that  they 
had  not  so  much  as  a  dish  or  spoon  between  them; 
but  she  brought  with  her  two  books  on  religious 
subjects,  the  reading  of  which  seems  to  have  had  no 
slight  degree  of  influence  on  his  mind.  He  went  to 
church  regularly,  adored  the  priest  and  all  things 
pertaining  to  his  office,  being,  as  he  says,  "overrun 
with  superstition."  On  one  occasion,  a  sermon  was 
preached  against  the  breach  of  the  Sabbath  by 
sports  or  labor,  which  struck  him  at  the  moment  as 
especially  designed  for  himself;  but  by  the  time  he 
had  finished  his  dinner,  he  was  prepared  to  "  shake 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  13 

it  out  of  his  mind,  and  return  to  his  sports  and  gam- 
ing." 

"  But  the  same  day,"  he  continues,  "  as  I  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  game  of  cat,  and  having  struck  it  one 
blow  from  the  hole,  just  as  I  was  about  to  strike  it 
a  second  time,  a  voice  did  suddenly  dart  from 
Heaven  into  my  soul,  which  said,  '  Wilt  thou  leave 
thy  sins  and  go  to  heaven,  or  have  thy  sins  and  go 
to  hell?'  At  this,  I  was  put  to  an  exceeding  maze ; 
wherefore,  leaving  my  cat  upon  the  ground,  I 
looked  up  to  Heaven,  and  it  was,  as  if  I  had,  with 
the  eyes  of  my  understanding,  seen  the  Lord  Jesus 
look  down  upon  me,  as  being  very  hotly  displeased 
with  me,  and  as  if  he  did  severely  threaten  me  with 
some  grievous  punishment  for  those  and  other  un 
godly  practices. 

"  I  had  no  sooner  thus  conceived  in  my  mind,  but 
suddenly  this  conclusion  fastened  on  my  spirit  (for 
the  former  hint  did  set  my  sins  again  before  my 
face),  that  I  had  been  a  great  and  grievous  sinner, 
and  that  it  was  now  too  late  for  me  to  look  after 
Heaven ;  for  Christ  would  not  forgive  me  nor 
pardon  my  transgressions.  Then,  while  I  was  think 
ing  of  it,  and  fearing  lest  it  should  be  so,  I  felt  my 
heart  sink  in  despair,  concluding  it  was  too  late  ; 
and  therefore  I  resolved  in  my  mind  to  go  on  in  sin; 
for,  thought  I,  if  the  case  be  thus,  my  state  is  surely 
miserable ;  miserable  if  I  leave  my  sins,  and  but 
miserable  if  I  follow  them  ;  I  can  but  be  damned  ; 
and  if  I  must  be  so,  I  had  as  good  be  damned  for 
many  sins  as  be  damned  for  few." 


14  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

The  reader  of  Pilgrim's  Progress  cannot  fail  here 
to  call  to  mind  the  wicked  suggestions  of  the  Giant 
to  Christian  in  the  dungeon  of  Doubting  Castle. 

"  I  returned,"  he  says,  "  desperately  to  my  sport 
again ;  and  I  well  remember,  that  presently  this 
kind  of  despair  did  so  possess  my  soul,  that  I  was 
persuaded  I  could  never  attain  to  other  comfort 
than  what  I  should  get  in  sin  ;  for  Heaven  was  gone 
already,  so  that  on  that  I  must  not  think  ;  where 
fore,  I  found  within  me  great  desire  to  take  my  fill 
of  sin,  that  I  might  taste  the  sweetness  of  it ;  and  I 
made  as  much  haste  as  I  could  to  fill  my  belly  with 
its  delicates,  lest  I  should  die  before  I  had  my 
desires  ;  for  that  I  feared  greatly.  In  these  things, 
I  protest  before  God,  I  lie  not,  neither  do  I  frame 
this  sort  of  speech  ;  these  were  really,  strongly,  and 
with  all  my  heart,  my  desires  ;  the  good  Lord,  whose 
mercy  is  unsearchable,  forgive  my  transgressions." 

One  day,  while  standing  in  the  street,  cursing  and 
blaspheming,  he  met  with  a  reproof  which  startled 
him.  The  woman  of  the  house,  in  front  of  which 
the  wicked  young  tinker  was  standing,  herself,  as 
he  remarks,  "  a  very  loose,  ungodly  wretch,"  pro 
tested  that  his  horrible  profanity  made  her  tremble  ; 
that  he  was  the  ungodliest  fellow  for  swearing  she 
had  ever  heard,  and  able  to  spoil  all  the  youth  of 
the  town  who  came  in  his  company.  Struck  by  this 
wholly  unexpected  rebuke,  he  at  once  abandoned 
the  practice  of  swearing  ;  although  previously  he 
tells  that  "  he  had  never  known  how  to  speak,  unless 
he  put  an  oath  before  and  another  behind." 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  15 

The  good  name  which  he  gained  by  this  change 
was  now  a  temptation  to  him.  "  My  neighbors,"  he 
says,  "  were  amazed  at  my  great  conversion  from 
prodigious  profaneness  to  something  like  a  moral 
life  and  sober  man.  Now,  therefore,  they  began  to 
praise,  to  commend,  and  to  speak  well  of  me,  both 
to  my  face  and  behind  my  back.  Now  I  was,  as 
they  said,  become  godly;  now  I  was  become  a  right 
honest  man.  But  oh  !  when  I  understood  those 
were  their  words  and  opinions  of  me,  it  pleased  me 
mighty  well ;  for  though  as  yet  I  was  nothing  but  a 
poor  painted  hypocrite,  yet  I  loved  to  be  talked  of 
as  one  that  was  truly  godly.  I  was  proud  of  my 
godliness,  and,  indeed,  I  did  all  I  did  either  to  be 
seen  of  or  well  spoken  of  by  men  ;  and  thus  I  con 
tinued  for  about  a  twelvemonth  or  more." 

The  tyranny  of  his  imagination  at  this  period  is 
seen  in  the  following  relation  of  his  abandonment 
of  one  of  his  favorite  sports. 

"  Now  you  must  know,  that  before  this  I  had 
taken  much  delight  in  ringing,  but  my  conscience 
beginning  to  be  tender,  I  thought  such  practice  was 
but  vain,  and  therefore  forced  myself  to  leave  it  ; 
yet  my  mind  hankered  ;  wherefore,  I  would  go  to 
the  steeple-house  and  look  on,  though  I  durst  not 
ring ;  but  I  thought  this  did  not  become  religion 
neither;  yet  I  forced  myself,  and  would  look  on 
still.  But  quickly  after,  I  began  to  think,  '  How  if 
one  of  the  bells  should  fall  ? '  Then  I  chose  to 
stand  under  a  main  beam,  that  lay  overthwart  the 
steeple,  from  side  to  side,  thinking  here  I  might 


1 6  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

stand  sure ;  but  then  I  thought  again,  should  the 
bell  fall  with  a  swing,  it  might  first  hit  the  wall,  and 
then,  rebounding  upon  me,  might  kill  me  for  all  this 
beam.  This  made  me  stand  in  the  steeple  door; 
and  now,  thought  I,  I  am  safe  enough  ;  for  if  a  bell 
should  then  fall,  I  can  slip  out  behind  these  thick 
walls,  and  so  be  preserved  notwithstanding. 

"  So  after  this  I  would  yet  go  to  see  them  ring, 
but  would  not  go  any  farther  than  the  steeple  door. 
But  then  it  came  in  my  head,  '  How  if  the  steeple 
itself  should  fall?'  And  t^is  thought  (it  may,  for 
aught  I  know,  when  I  stood  and  looked  on)  did  con 
tinually  so  shake  my  mind,  that  I  durst  not  stand 
at  the  steeple  door  any  longer,  but  was  forced  to 
flee,  for  fear  the  steeple  should  fall  upon  my  head." 

About  this  time,  while  wandering  through  Bed 
ford  in  pursuit  of  employment,  he  chanced  to  see 
three  or  four  poor  old  women  sitting  at  a  door,  in 
the  evening  sun,  and,  drawing  near  them,  heard 
them  converse  upon  the  things  of  God ;  of  His 
work  in  their  hearts ;  of  their  natural  depravity ; 
of  the  temptations  of  the  Adversary;  and  of  the 
joy  of  believing,  and  of  the  peace  of  reconciliation. 
The  words  of  the  aged  women  found  a  response 
in  the  soul  of  the  listener.  "  He  felt  his  heart 
shake,"  to  use  his  own  words ;  he  saw  that  he 
lacked  the  true  tokens  of  a  Christian.  He  now  for 
sook  the  company  of  the  profane  and  licentious,  and 
sought  that  of  a  poor  man  who  had  the  reputation 
of  piety,  but,  to  his  grief,  he  found  him  "a  devilish 
ranter,  given  up  to  all  manner  of  uncleanness;  he 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  17 

would  laugh  at  all  exhortations  to  sobriety,  and 
deny  that  there  was  a  God,  an  angel,  or  a  spirit." 

"  Neither,"  he  continues,  "was  this  man  only  a 
temptation  to  me,  but,  my  calling  lying  in  the 
country,  I  happened  to  come  into  several  people's 
company,  who,  though  strict  in  religion  formerly, 
yet  were  also  drawn  away  by  these  ranters.  These 
would  also  talk  with  me  of  their  ways,  and  condemn 
me  as  illegal  and  dark;  pretending  that  they  only 
had  attained  to  perfection,  that  could  do  what  they 
would,  and  not  sin.  Oh  !  these  temptations  were 
suitable  to  my  flesh,  I  being  but  a  young  man,  and 
my  nature  in  its  prime  ;  but  God,  who  had,  as  I 
hope,  designed  me  for  better  things,  kept  me  in  the 
fear  of  his  name,  and  did  not  suffer  me  to  accept 
such  cursed  principles." 

At  this  time  he  was  sadly  troubled  to  ascertain 
whether  or  not  he  had  that  faith  which  the  Scrip 
tures  spake  of.  Traveling  one  day  from  Elstow  to 
Bedford,  after  a  recent  rain,  which  had  left  pools 
of  water  in  the  path,  he  felt  a  strong  desire  to  settle 
the  question  by  commanding  the  pools  to  become 
dry,  and  the  dry  places  to  become  pools.  Going 
under  the  hedge  to  pray  for  ability  to  work  the 
miracle,  he  was  struck  with  the  thought,  that  if  he 
failed  he  should  know,  indeed,  that  he  was  a  cast 
away,  and  give  himself  up  to  despair.  He  dared 
not  attempt  the  experiment,  and  went  on  his  way, 
to  use  his  own  forcible  language,  "  tossed  up  and 
down  between  the  devil  and  his  own  ignorance." 

Soon  after,  he  had  one  of  those  visions  which  fore- 


1 8  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

shadowed  the  wonderful  dream  of  his  Pilgrim's  Pro 
gress.  He  saw  some  holy  people  of  Bedford  on  the 
sunny  side  of  an  high  mountain,  refreshing  them 
selves  in  the  pleasant  air  and  sunlight,  while  he  was 
shivering  in  cold  and  darkness,  amidst  snows  and 
never-melting  ices,  like  the  victims  of  the  Scandi 
navian  hell.  A  wall  compassed  the  mountain,  sepa 
rating  him  from  the  blessed,  with  one  small  gap  or 
doorway,  through  which,  with  great  pain  and  effort, 
he  was  at  last  enabled  to  work  his  way  into  the  sun 
shine,  and  sit  down  with  the  saints,  in  the  light  and 
warmth  thereof. 

But  now  a  new  trouble  assailed  him.     Like  Mil 
ton's  metaphysical  spirits,  who  sat  apart, 

And  reasoned  of  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate, 

he  grappled  with  one  of  those  great  questions  which 
have  always  perplexed  and  baffled  human  inquiry, 
and  upon  which  much  has  been  written  to  little  pur 
pose.  He  was  tortured  with  anxiety  to  know 
whether,  according  to  the  Westminster  formula,  he 
was  elected  to  salvation  or  damnation.  His  old 
adversary  vexed  his  soul  with  evil  suggestions,  and 
even  quoted  Scripture  to  enforce  them.  "  It  may 
be  you  are  not  elected,"  said  the  Tempter,  and  the 
poor  tinker  thought  the  supposition  altogether  too 
probable.  "  Why,  then,"  said  Satan,  "you  had  as 
good  leave  off,  and  strive  no  farther;  for  if,  indeed, 
you  should  not  be  elected  and  chosen  of  God,  there 
is  no  hope  of  your  being  saved  ;  for  it  is  neither  in 
him  that  willeth  nor  in  him  that  runneth,  but  irt 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  19 

God  who  showeth  mercy."  At  length  when,  as  he 
says,  he  was  about  giving  up  the  ghost  of  all  his 
hopes,  this  passage  fell  with  weight  upon  his  spirit ; 
"  Look  at  the  generations  of  old,  and  see ;  did  ever 
any  trust  in  God,  and  were  confounded  ?  "  Com 
forted  by  these  words,  he  opened  his  Bible  to  note 
them,  but  the  most  diligent  search  and  inquiry  of 
his  neighbors  failed  to  discover  them.  At  length, 
his  eye  fell  upon  them  in  the  Apocryphal  book  of 
Ecclesiasticus.  This,  he  says,  somewhat  doubted 
him  at  first,  as  the  book  was  not  canonical  ;  but  in 
the  end  he  took  courage  and  comfort  from  the  pas 
sage.  "  I  bless  God,"  he  says,  "  for  that  word ;  it 
was  good  for  me.  That  word  doth  still  oftentimes 
shine  before  my  face." 

A  long  and  weary  struggle  was  now  before  him. 
41  I  cannot,"  he  says,  "  express  with  what  longings 
and  breathings  of  my  soul  I  cried  unto  Christ  to  call 
me.  Gold!  could  it  have  been  gotten  by  gold,  what 
would  I  have  given  for  it.  Had  I  a  whole  world,  it 
had  all  gone  ten  thousand  times  over  for  this,  that 
my  soul  might  have  been  in  a  converted  state. 
How  lovely  now  was  every  one  in  my  eyes,  that  I 
thought  to  be  converted  men  and  women.  They 
shone,  they  walked  like  a  people  who  carried  the 
broad  seal  of  Heaven  with  them." 

With  what  force  and  intensity  of  language  does 
he  portray,  in  the  following  passage,  the  reality  and 
earnestness  of  his  agonizing  experience  : 

"  While  I  was  thus  afflicted  with  the  fears  of  my 
own  damnation,  there  were  two  things  would  make 


20  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

me  wonder :  the  one  was,  when  I  saw  old  people 
hunting  after  the  things  of  this  life,  as  if  they  should 
live  here  always  ;  the  other  was,  when  I  found  pro 
fessors  much  distressed  and  cast  down,  when  they 
met  with  outward  losses;  as  of  husband,  wife,  or 
child.  Lord,  thought  I,  what  a  seeking  after  carnal 
things  by  some,  and  what  grief  in  others  for  the  loss 
of  them  !  If  they  so  much  labor  after  and  shed  so 
many  tears  for  the  things  of  this  present  life,  how 
am  I  to  be  bemoaned,  pitied,  and  prayed  for  !  My 
soul  is  dying,  my  soul  is  damning.  Were  my  soul 
but  in  a  good  condition,  and  were  I  but  sure  of  it, 
ah  !  how  rich  should  I  esteem  myself,  though  blessed 
but  with  bread  and  water  !  I  should  count  these 
but  small  afflictions,  and  should  bear  them  as  little 
burdens.  '  A  wounded  spirit  who  can  bear ! ' 

He  looked  with  envy,  as  he  wandered  through 
the  country,  upon  the  birds  in  the  trees,  the  hares  in 
the  preserves,  and  the  fishes  in  the  streams.  They 
were  happy  in  their  brief  existence,  and  their  death 
was  but  a  sleep.  He  felt  himself  alienated  from 
God,  a  discord  in  the  harmonies  of  the  universe. 
The  very  rooks  which  fluttered  around  the  old  church 
spire  seemed  more  worthy  of  the  Creator's  love  and 
care  than  himself.  A  vision  of  the  infernal  fire,  like 
that  glimpse  of  hell  which  was  afforded  to  Christian 
by  the  Shepherds,  was  continually  before  him,  with 
its  "  rumbling  noise,  and  the  cry  of  some  tormented, 
and  the  scent  of  brimstone."  Whithersoever  he 
went,  the  glare  of  it  scorched  him,  and  its  dreadful 
sound  was  in  his  ears.  His  vivid  but  disturbed 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  21 

imagination  lent  new  terrors  to  the  awful  figures  by 
which  the  sacred  writers  conveyed  the  idea  of  future 
retribution  to  the  Oriental  mind.  Bunyan's  World 
of  Woe,  if  it  lacked  the  colossal  architecture  and 
solemn  vastness  of  Milton's  Pandemonium,  was  more 
clearly  defined  ;  its  agonies  were  within  the  pale  of 
human  comprehension  ;  its  victims  were  men  and 
women,  with  the  same  keen  sense  of  corporeal  suf 
fering  which  they  possessed  in  life;  and  who,  to  use 
his  own  terrible  description,  had  "  all  the  loathed 
variety  of  hell  to  grapple  with  ;  fire  unquenchable, 
a  lake  of  choking  brimstone,  eternal  chains,  darkness 
more  black  than  night,  the  everlasting  gnawing  of 
the  worm,  the  sight  of  devils,  and  the  yells  and  out 
cries  of  the  damned." 

His  mind  at  this  period  was  evidently  shaken  in 
some  degree  from  its  balance.  He  was  troubled 
with  strange  wicked  thoughts,  confused  by  doubts 
and  blasphemous  suggestions,  for  which  he  could 
only  account  by  supposing  himself  possessed  of  the 
devil.  He  wanted  to  curse  and  swear,  and  had  to 
clap  his  hands  on  his  mouth  to  prevent  it.  In 
prayer,  he  felt,  as  he  supposed,  Satan  behind  him, 
pulling  his  clothes,  and  telling  him  to  have  done, 
and  break  off;  suggesting  that  he  had  better  pray 
to  him,  and  calling  up  before  his  mind's  eye  the 
figures  of  a  bull,  a  tree,  or  some  other  object,  instead 
of  the  awful  idea  of  God. 

He  notes  here,  as  cause  of  thankfulness,  that,  even 
in  this  dark  and  clouded  state,  he  was  enabled  to  see 
the  "vile  and  abominable  things  fomented  by  the 


2  2  FOR  TRAITS  AND  SKE  TCHES. 

Quakers,"  to  be  errors.  Gradually,  the  shadow 
wherein  he  had  so  long 

Walked  beneath  the  day's  broad  glare, 
A  darkened  man, 

passed  from  him,  and  for  a  season  he  was  afforded 
an  "  evidence  of  his  salvation  from  Heaven,  with 
many  golden  seals  thereon  hanging  in  his  sight." 
But,  ere  long,  other  temptations  assailed  him.  A 
strange  suggestion  haunted  him,  to  sell  or  part  with 
his  Saviour.  His  own  account  of  this  hallucination 
is  too  painfully  vivid  to  awaken  any  other  feeling 
than  that  of  sympathy  and  sadness. 

"  I  could  neither  eat  my  food,  stoop  for  a  pin, 
chop  a  stick,  or  cast  mine  eye  to  look  on  this  or  that, 
but  still  the  temptation  would  come,  Sell  Christ  for 
this,  or  sell  Christ  for  that;  sell  him,  sell  him. 

"  Sometimes  it  would  run  in  my  thoughts,  not  so 
little  as  a  hundred  times  together,  Sell  him,  sell 
him ;  against  which,  I  may  say,  for  whole  hours  to 
gether,  I  have  been  forced  to  stand  as  continually 
leaning  and  forcing  my  spirit  against  it,  lest  haply, 
before  I  were  aware,  some  wicked  thought  might 
arise  in  my  heart,  that  might  consent  thereto ;  and 
sometimes  the  tempter  would  make  me  believe  I 
had  consented  to  it ;  but  then  I  should  be  as  tortured 
upon  a  rack,  for  whole  days  together. 

"  This  temptation  did  put  me  to  such  scares,  lest 
I  should  at  sometimes,  I  say,  consent  thereto,  and 
be  overcome  therewith,  that,  by  the  very  force  of 
my  mind,  my  very  body  would  be  put  into  action 


JOHN  B  UN  VAN.  2$ 

or  motion,  by  way  of  pushing  or  thrusting  with  my 
hands  or  elbows ;  still  answering — as  fast  as  the  de 
stroyer  said,  Sell  him, — I  will  not,  I  will  not,  I  will 
not ;  no,  not  for  thousands,  thousands,  thousands  of 
worlds;  thus  reckoning,  lest  I  should  set  too  low  a 
value  on  him,  even  until  I  scarce  well  knew  where  I 
was,  or  how  to  be  composed  again. 

"But  to  be  brief:  one  morning,  as  I  did  lie  in  my 
bed,  I  was,  as  at  other  times,  most  fiercely  assaulted 
with  this  temptation,  to  sell  and  part  with  Christ  ; 
the  wicked  suggestion  still  running  in  my  mind, 
Sell  him,  sell  him,  sell  him,  sell  him,  sell  him,  as 
fast  as  a  man  could  speak  ;  against  which,  also,  in  my 
mind,  as  at  other  times,  I  answered,  No,  no,  not  for 
thousands,  thousands,  thousands — at  least  twenty 
times  together;  but  at  last,  after  much  striving,  I 
felt  this  thought  pass  through  my  heart,  Let  him  ga 
if  he  will ;  and  I  thought  also,  that  I  felt  my  heart 
freely  consent  thereto.  Oh  !  the  diligence  of  Satan  ! 
Oh  !  the  desperateness  of  man's  heart ! 

"  Now  was  the  battle  won,  and  down  fell  I,  as  a 
bird  that  is  shot  from  the  top  of  a  tree,  into  great 
guilt,  and  fearful  despair.  Thus  getting  out  of  my 
bed,  I  went  moping  into  the  field  ;  but  God  knows, 
with  as  heavy  a  heart  as  mortal  man,  I  think,  could 
bear ;  where,  for  the  space  of  two  hours,  I  was  like 
a  man  bereft  of  life  ;  and,  as  now,  past  all  recovery, 
and  bound  over  to  eternal  punishment. 

"  And  withal,  that  Scripture  did  seize  upon  my 
soul :  '  Or  profane  person,  as  Esau,  who,  for  one 
morsel  of  meat,  sold  his  birthright ;  for  ye  know 


24  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

how  that  afterward,  when  he  would  have  inherited 
the  blessing,  he  was  rejected  ;  for  he  found  no  place 
for  repentance,  though  he  sought  it  carefully  with 
tears.' " 

For  two  years  and  a  half,  as  he  informs  us,  that 
awful'Scripture  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the  knell  of 
a  lost  soul.  He  believed  that  he  had  committed  the 
unpardonable  sin.  His  mental  anguish  was  united 
with  bodily  illness  and  suffering.  His  nervous  sys 
tem  became  fearfully  deranged  ;  his  limbs  trembled, 
and  he  supposed  this  visible  tremulousness  and  agi 
tation  to  be  the  mark  of  Cain.  Troubled  with  pain 
and  distressing  sensations  in  his  chest,  he  began  to 
fear  that  his  breast-bone  would  split  open,  and  that 
he  should  perish  like  Judas  Iscariot.  He  feared 
the  tiles  of  the  houses  would  fall  upon  him  as  he 
walked  the  streets.  He  was  like  his  own  Man  in 
the  Cage  at  the  House  of  the  Interpreter,  shut  out 
from  the  promises,  and  looking  forward  to  certain 
judgment.  "  Methought,"  he  says,  "  the  very  sun 
that  shineth  in  heaven  did  grudge  to  give  me  light." 
And  still  the  dreadful  words,  "  He  found  no  place 
for  repentance,  though  he  sought  it  carefully  with 
tears,"  sounded  in  the  depths  of  his  soul.  They 
were,  he  says,  like  fetters  of  brass  to  his  legs,  and 
their  continual  clanking  followed  him  for  months. 
Regarding  himself  elected  and  predestined  for 
damnation,  he  thought  that  all  things  worked  for 
his  damage  and  eternal  overthrow,  while  all  things 
wrought  for  the  best,  and  to  do  good  to  the  elect 
and  called  of  God  unto  salvation.  God  and  all  His 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  25 

universe  had,  he  thought,  conspired  against  him  ;  the 
green  earth,  the  bright  waters,  the  sky  itself,  were 
written  over  with  his  irrevocable  curse. 

Well  was  it  said  by  Bunyan's  contemporary,  the 
excellent  Cudworth,  in  his  eloquent  sermon  before 
the  Long  Parliament,  that  "  we  are  nowhere  com 
manded  to  pry  into  the  secrets  of  God,  but  the 
wholesome  advice  given  us  is  this :  *  To  make  our 
calling  and  election  sure.'  We  have  no  warrant 
from  Scripture  to  peep  into  the  hidden  rolls  of 
eternity,  to  spell  out  our  names  among  the  stars." 
"  Must  we  say  that  God  sometimes,  to  exercise  His 
uncontrollable  dominion,  delights  rather  in  plung 
ing  wretched  souls  down  into  infernal  night  and  ever 
lasting  darkness  ?  What,  then,  shall  we  make  the 
God  of  the  whole  world?  Nothing  but  a  cruel  and 
dreadful  Errinys,  with  curled  fiery  snakes  about  His 
head,  and  firebrands  in  His  hand  ;  thus  governing 
the  world  !  Surely  this  will  make  us  either  secretly 
think  there  is  no  God  in  the  world,  if  He  must  needs 
be  such,  or  else  to  wish  heartily  there  were  none." 
It  was  thus  at  times  with  Bunyan.  He  was  tempted, 
in  this  season  of  despair,  to  believe  that  there  was 
no  resurrection  and  no  judgment. 

One  day,  he  tells  us,  a  sudden  rushing  sound,  as  of 
wind  or  the  wings  of  angels,  came  to  him  through 
the  window,  wonderfully  sweet  and  pleasant ;  and  it 
was  as  if  a  voice  spoke  to  him  from  heaven  words  of 
encouragement  and  hope,  which,  to  use  his  language, 
commanded,  for  the  time,  "  a  silence  in  his  heart 
to  all  those  tumultuous  thoughts  that  did  use,  like 


26         PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

masterless  hell-hounds,  to  roar  and  bellow  and  make 
a  hideous  noise  within  him."  About  this  time,  also, 
some  comforting  passages  of  Scripture  were  called  to 
mind  ;  but  he  remarks,  that  whenever  he  strove  to 
apply  them  to  his  case,  Satan  would  thrust  the 
curse  of  Esau  in  his  face,  and  wrest  the  good  word 
from  him.  The  blessed  promise,  "  Him  that  cometh 
to  me,  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out,"  was  the  chief 
instrumentality  in  restoring  his  lost  peace.  He 
says  of  it :  "  If  ever  Satan  and  I  did  strive  for  any 
word  of  God  in  all  my  life,  it  was  for  this  good  word 
of  Christ ;  he  at  one  end,  and  I  at  the  other ;  oh, 
what  work  we  made  !  It  was  for  this  in  John,  I  say, 
that  we  did  so  tug  and  strive ;  he  pulled,  and  I 
pulled,  but,  God  be  praised !  I  overcame  him  ;  I  got 
sweetness  from  it.  Oh  !  many  a  pull  hath  my  heart 
had  with  Satan  for  this  blessed  sixth  chapter  of 
John !  " 

Who  does  not  here  call  to  mind  the  struggle  be 
tween  Christian  and  Apollyon  in  the  valley  !  That 
was  no  fancy  sketch  ;  it  was  the  narrative  of  the 
author's  own  grapple  with  the  Spirit  of  Evil.  Like 
his  ideal  Christian,  he  "  conquered  through  Him 
that  loved  him."  Love  wrought  the  victory:  the 
Scripture  of  Forgiveness  overcame  that  of  Hatred. 

He  never  afterward  relapsed  into  that  state  of  re 
ligious  melancholy  from  which  he  so  hardly  escaped. 
He  speaks  of  his  deliverance,  as  the  waking  out  of 
a  troublesome  dream.  His  painful  experience  was 
not  lost  upon  him  ;  for  it  gave  him,  ever  after,  a 
tender  sympathy  for  the  weak,  the  sinful,  the  ig« 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  27 

norant,  and  desponding.  In  some  measure,  he  had 
been  "  touched  with  the  feeling  of  their  infirmities." 
He  could  feel  for  those  in  the  bonds  of  sin  and  de 
spair,  as  bound  with  them.  Hence  his  power  as  a 
preacher ;  hence  the  wonderful  adaptation  of  his 
great  allegory  to  all  the  variety  of  spiritual  condi 
tions.  Like  Fearing,  he  had  lain  a  month  in  the 
Slough  of  Despond,  and  had  played,  like  him,  the 
long,  melancholy  bass  of  spiritual  heaviness.  With 
Feeble-mind,  he  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Slay- 
good,  of  the  nature  of  Man-eaters  ;  and  had  limped 
along  his  difficult  way  upon  the  crutches  of  Ready- 
to-halt.  Who  better  than  himself  could  describe 
the  condition  of  Despondency,  and  his  daughter 
Much-afraid,  in  the  dungeon  of  Doubting  Castle? 
Had  he  not  also  fallen  among  thieves,  like  Little- 
faith  ? 

His  account  of  his  entering  upon  the  solemn 
duties  of  a  preacher  of  the  gospel  is  at  once  curious 
and  instructive.  He  deals  honestly  with  himself, 
exposing  all  his  various  moods,  weaknesses,  doubts 
and  temptations.  "I  preached,"  he  says,  "what  I 
felt ;  for  the  terrors  of  the  law  and  the  guilt  of  trans 
gression  lay  heavy  on  my  conscience.  I  have  been 
as  one  sent  to  them  from  the  dead.  I  went  my 
self  in  chains  to  preach  to  them  in  chains;  and 
carried  that  fire  in  my  conscience  which  I  persuaded 
them  to  beware  of."  At  times,  when  he  stood  up 
to  preach,  blasphemies  and  evil  doubts  rushed  into 
his  mind,  and  he  felt  a  strong  desire  to  utter  them 
aloud  to  his  congregation ;  and  at  other  seasons, 


28  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

when  he  was  about  to  apply  to  the  sinner  some 
searching  and  fearful  text  of  Scripture,  he  was 
tempted  to  withhold  it,  on  the  ground  that  it  con 
demned  himself  also  ;  but,  withstanding  the  sug 
gestion  of  the  Tempter,  to  use  his  own  simile,  he 
bowed  himself  like  Samson  to  condemn  sin  wherever 
he  found  it,  though  he  brought  guilt  and  condem 
nation  upon  himself  thereby,  choosing  rather  to  die 
with  the  Philistines,  than  to  deny  the  truth. 

Foreseeing  the  consequences  of  exposing  himself 
to  the  operation  of  the  penal  laws,  by  holding  conven 
ticles  and  preaching,  he  was  deeply  afflicted  at  the 
thought  of  the  suffering  and  destitution  to  which  his 
wife  and  children  might  be  exposed  by  his  death  or 
imprisonment.  Nothing  can  be  more  touching  than 
his  simple  and  earnest  words  on  this  point.  They 
show  how  warm  and  deep  were  his  human  affections, 
and  what  a  tender  and  loving  heart  he  laid  as  a  sac 
rifice  on  the  altar  of  duty : 

"  I  found  myself  a  man  compassed  with  infirmi 
ties  ;  the  parting  with  my  wife  and  poor  children 
hath  often  been  to  me,  in  this  place,  as  the  pulling 
the  flesh  from  the  bones;  and  also  it  brought  to  my 
mind  the  many  hardships,  miseries,  and  wants  that 
my  poor  family  was  like  to  meet  with,  should  I  be 
taken  from  them,  especially  my  poor  blind  child, 
who  lay  nearer  my  heart  than  all  beside.  Oh !  the 
thoughts  of  the  hardships  I  thought  my  poor  blind 
one  might  go  under,  would  break  my  heart  to 
pieces. 

"  Poor  child !  thought  I,  what  sorrow  art  thou  like 


JOHN  BUN Y AN.  29 

to  have  for  thy  portion  in  this  world  !  thou  must  be 
beaten,  must  beg,  suffer  hunger,  cold,  nakedness, 
and  a  thousand  calamities,  though  I  cannot  now  en 
dure  the  wind  should  blow  upon  thee.  But  yet, 
thought  I,  I  must  venture  you  all  with  God,  though 
it  goeth  to  the  quick  to  leave  you.  Oh !  I  saw  I 
was  as  a  man  who  was  pulling  down  his  house  upon 
the  heads  of  his  wife  and  children  ;  yet  I  thought  on 
those  '  two  milch  kine  that  were  to  carry  the  ark  of 
God  into  another  country,  and  to  leave  their  calves 
behind  them.' 

"  But  that  which  helped  me  in  this  temptation  was 
divers  considerations:  the  first  was,  the  considera 
tion  of  those  two  Scriptures,  '  Leave  thy  fatherless 
children,  I  will  preserve  them  alive;  and  let  thy 
widows  trust  in  me';  and  again,  'The  Lord  said, 
verily  it  shall  go  well  with  thy  remnant ;  verily  I  will 
cause  the  enemy  to  entreat  them  well  in  the  time  of 
evil.'" 

He  was  arrested  in  1660,  charged  with  '  devilishly 
and  perniciously  abstaining  from  church,"  and  of 
being  "a  common  upholder  of  conventicles."  At 
the  quarter  sessions,  where  his  trial  seems  to  have 
been  conducted  somewhat  like  that  of  Faithful  at 
Vanity  Fair,  he  was  sentenced  to  perpetual  banish 
ment.  This  sentence,  however,  was  never  executed, 
but  he  was  remanded  to  Bedford  jail,  where  he  lay 
a  prisoner  for  twelve  years. 

Here,  shut  out  from  the  world,  with  no  other 
books  than  the  Bible  and  Fox's  Martyrs,  he  penned 
that  great  work  which  has  attained  a  wider  and 


30         PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

more  stable  popularity  than  any  other  book  in  the 
English  tongue.  It  is  alike  the  favorite  of  the 
nursery  and  the  study.  Many  experienced  Chris 
tians  hold  it  only  second  to  the  Bible;  the  infidel 
himself  would  not  willingly  let  it  die.  Men  of  all 
sects  read  it  with  delight,  as  in  the  main  a  truthful 
representation  of  the  Christian  pilgrimage;  without, 
indeed,  assenting  to  all  the  doctrines  which  the 
author  puts  in  the  mouth  of  his  fighting  sermonizer, 
Greatheart,  or  which  may  be  deduced  from  some 
other  portions  of  his  allegory.  A  recollection  of  his 
fearful  sufferings,  from  misapprehension  of  a  single 
text  in  the  Scriptures,  relative  to  the  question  of 
election,  we  may  suppose  gave  a  milder  tone  to  the 
theology  of  his  Pilgrim  than  was  altogether  consist 
ent  with  the  Calvinism  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
"  Religion,"  says  Macaulay,  "  has  scarcely  ever  worn 
a  form  so  calm  and  soothing  as  in  Bunyan's  alle 
gory."  In  composing  it,  he  seems  never  to  have  al 
together  lost  sight  of  the  fact,  that,  in  his  life  and 
death  struggle  with  Satan  for  the  blessed  promise 
recorded  by  the  Apostle  of  Love,  the  adversary  was 
generally  found  on  the  Genevan  side  of  the  argu 
ment. 

Little  did  the  short-sighted  persecutors  of  Bunyan 
dream,  when  they  closed  upon  him  the  door  of  Bed 
ford  jail,  that  God  would  overrule  their  poor  spite 
and  envy  to  his  own  glory  and  the  world-wide  re 
nown  of  their  victim.  In  the  solitude  of  his  prison, 
the  ideal  forms  of  beauty  and  sublimity,  which  had 
long  flitted  before  him  vaguely,  like  the  vision  of 


JOHN  BUN Y AN.  31 

the  Temanite,  took  shape  and  coloring;  and  he  was 
endowed  with  power  to  reduce  them  to  order  and 
arrange  them  in  harmonious  groupings.  His  power 
ful  imagination,  no  longer  self-tormenting,  but  under 
the  direction  of  reason  and  grace,  expanded  his 
narrow  cell  into  a  vast  theater,  lighted  up  for  the 
display  of  its  wonders.  To  this  creative  faculty  of 
his  mind  might  have  been  aptly  applied  the  lan 
guage  which  George  Wither,  a  contemporary  pris 
oner,  addressed  to  his  Muse  : 

The  dull  loneness,  the  black  shade 
Which  these  hanging  vaults  have  made, 
The  rude  portals  that  give  light 
More  to  terror  than  delight ; 
This  my  chamber  of  neglect, 
Walled  about  with  disrespect, — 
From  all  these,  and  this  dull  air, 
A  fit  object  for  despair, 
She  hath  taught  me  by  her  might, 
To  draw  comfort  and  delight. 

That  stony  cell  of  his  was  to  him  like  the  rock  of 
Padan-aram  to  the  wandering  Patriarch.  He  saw 
angels  ascending  and  descending.  The  House 
Beautiful  rose  up  before  him,  and  its  holy  sister- 
hood  welcomed  him.  He  looked,  with  his  Pilgrim, 
from  the  Chamber  of  Peace.  The  Valley  of  Humili 
ation  lay  stretched  out  beneath  his  eye,  and  he 
heard  "  the  curious  melodious  note  of  the  country 
birds,  who  sing  all  the  day  long  in  the  spring  time, 
when  the  flowers  appear,  and  the  sun  shines  warm, 
and  make  the  woods  and  groves  and  solitary  places 


32  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

glad."  Side  by  side  with  the  good  Christiana  and 
the  loving  Mercy,  he  walked  through  the  green  and 
lowly  valley,  "  fruitful  as  any  the  crow  flies  over," 
through  "  meadows  beautiful  with  lilies  "  ;  the  song 
of  the  poor  but  fresh-faced  shepherd  boy,  who 
lived  a  merry  life,  and  wore  the  herb  heartsease  in 
his  bosom,  sounded  through  his  cell: 

He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall ; 
He  that  is  low  no  pride. 

The  broad  and  pleasant  "river  of  the  Water  of  Life" 
glided  peacefully  before  him,  fringed  "  on  either  side 
with  green  trees,  with  all  manner  of  fruit,"  and 
leaves  of  healing,  with  "  meadows  beautified  with 
lilies,  and  green  all  the  year  long";  he  saw  the 
Delectable  Mountains,  glorious  with  sunshine,  over 
hung  with  gardens  and  orchards  and  vineyards  ;  and 
beyond  all,  the  Land  of  Beulah,  with  its  eternal  sun 
shine,  its  song  of  birds,  its  music  of  fountains,  its 
purple,  clustered  vines,  and  groves  through  which 
walked  the  Shining  Ones,  silver-winged  and  beau 
tiful. 

What  were  bars  and  bolts  and  prison  walls  to  him, 
whose  eyes  were  anointed  to  see,  and  whose  ears 
opened  to  hear,  the  glory  and  the  rejoicing  of  the 
City  of  God,  when  the  pilgrims  were  conducted  to 
its  golden  gates,  from  the  black  and  bitter  river,  with 
the  sounding  trumpeters,  the  transfigured  harpers 
with  their  crowns  of  gold,  the  sweet  voices  of  angels, 
the  welcoming  peal  of  bells  in  the  holy  city,  and  the 
songs  of  the  redeemed  ones?  In  reading  the  con- 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  33 

eluding  pages  of  the  first  part  of  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
we  feel  as  if  the  mysterious  glory  of  the  Beatific 
Vision  was  unveiled  before  us.  We  are  dazzled  with 
the  excess  of  light.  We  are  entranced  with  the  mighty 
melody ;  overwhelmed  by  the  great  anthem  of 
rejoicing  spirits.  It  can  only  be  adequately  de 
scribed  in  the  language  of  Milton  in  respect  to  the 
Apocalypse,  as  "  a  seven-fold  chorus  of  hallelujahs 
and  harping  symphonies." 

Few  who  read  Bunyan  now-a-days  think  of  him  as 
one  of  the  brave  old  English  confessors,  whose  steady 
and  firm  endurance  of  persecution  baffled,  and  in  the 
end  overcame,  the  tyranny  of  the  established  church 
in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  What  Milton  and  Penn 
and  Locke  wrote  in  defense  of  Liberty,  Bunyan  lived 
out  and  acted.  He  made  no  concessions  to  worldly 
Tank.  Dissolute  lords  and  proud  bishops  he  counted 
less  than  the  humblest  and  poorest  of  his  disciples 
at  Bedford.  When  first  arrested  and  thrown  into 
prison,  he  supposed  he  should  be  called  to  suffer 
death  for  his  faithful  testimony  to  the  truth  ;  and 
his  great  fear  was,  that  he  should  not  meet  his  fate 
with  the  requisite  firmness,  and  so  dishonor  the  cause 
of  his  Master.  And  when  dark  clouds  came  over 
him,  and  he  sought  in  vain  for  a  sufficient  evidence 
that  in  the  event  of  his  death  it  would  be  well  with 
him,  he  girded  up  his  soul  with  the  reflection  that 
as  he  suffered  for  the  word  and  way  of  God,  he  was 
engaged  not  to  shrink  one  hair's  breadth  from  it. 
"  I  will  leap,"  he  says,  "  off  the  ladder  blindfold  into 
eternity,  sink  or  swim,  come  heaven,  come  hellr 


34  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES, 

Lord  Jesus,  if  thou  wilt  catch  me,  do;  if  not,  I  will 
venture  in  thy  name  !  " 

The  English  revolution  of  the  seventeenth  cen 
tury,  while  it  humbled  the  false  and  oppressive  aris 
tocracy  of  rank  and  title,  was  prodigal  in  the  devel 
opment  of  the  real  nobility  of  the  mind  and  heart. 
Its  history  is  bright  with  the  footprints  of  men 
whose  very  names  still  stir  the  hearts  of  freemen, 
the  world  over,  like  a  trumpet-peal.  Say  what  we 
may  of  its  fanaticism,  laugh  as  we  may  at  its  ex 
travagant  enjoyment  of  newly  acquired  religious  and 
civil  liberty,  who  shall  now  venture  to  deny  that  it 
was  the  golden  age  of  England  ?  Who  that  regards 
freedom  above  slavery,  will  now  sympathize  with 
the  outcry  and  lamentation  of  those  interested  in 
the  continuance  of  the  old  order  of  things,  against 
the  prevalence  of  sects  and  schism,  but  who,  at  the 
same  time,  as  Milton  shrewdly  intimates,  dreaded 
more  the  rending  of  their  pontifical  sleeves  than  the 
rending  of  the  church  ?  Who  shall  now  sneer  at 
Puritanism,  with  the  "  Defense  of  Unlicensed  Print 
ing"  before  him?  Who  scoff  at  Quakerism  over 
the  Journal  of  George  Fox?  Who  shall  join  with 
debauched  lordlings  and  fat-witted  prelates  in  ridi 
cule  of  Anabaptist  levelers  and  dippers,  after  rising 
from  the  ^perusal  of  Pilgrim's  Progress?  "There 
were  giants  in  those  days."  And  foremost  amid 
that  band  of  liberty  -  loving  and  God-fearing 
men, 

The  slandered  Calvinists  of  Charles's  time, 
Who  fought,  and  won  it,  Freedom's  holy  fight, 


JOHN  BUN  VAN.  35 

stands  the  subject  of  our  sketch,  the  Tinker  of 
Elstow.  Of  his  high  merit  as  an  author  there  is  no 
longer  any  question.  The  Edinburgh  Review  ex 
pressed  the  common  sentiment  of  the  literary  world, 
when  it  declared  that  the  two  great  creative  minds 
of  the  seventeenth  century  were  those  which  pro 
duced  Paradise  Lost  and  the  Pilgrim's  Progress. 


THOMAS  ELLWOOD. 


COMMEND  us  to  autobiographies!  Give  us  the 
veritable  notchings  of  Robinson  Crusoe  on  his  stick, 
the  indubitable  records  of  a  life  long  since  swallowed 
up  in  the  blackness  of  darkness,  traced  by  a  hand 
the  very  dust  of  which  has  become  undistinguish- 
able.  The  foolish  egotist  who  ever  chronicled  his 
daily  experiences,  his  hopes  and  fears,  poor  plans 
and  vain  Teachings  after  happiness,  speaking  to  us 
out  of  the  Past,  and  thereby  giving  us  to  understand 
that  it  was  quite  as  real  as  our  Present,  is  in  no 
mean  sort  our  benefactor,  and  commands  our  atten 
tion,  in  spite  of  his  folly.  We  are  thankful  for  the 
very  vanity  which  prompted  him  to  bottle  up  his 
poor  records,  and  cast  them  into  the  great  sea  of 
Time,  for  future  voyagers  to  pick  iup.  We  note, 
with  the  deepest  interest,  that  in  him  too  was  en 
acted  that  miracle  of  a  conscious  existence,  the  re 
production  of  which  in  ourselves  awes  and  perplexes 
us.  He,  too,  had  a  mother;  he  hated  and  loved; 
the  light  from  old-quenched  hearts  shone  over  him  ; 
he  walked  in  the  sunshine  over  the  dust  of  those 
who  had  gone  before  him,  just  as  we  are  now  walk 
ing  over  his.  These  records  of  him  remain,  the  foot 
marks  of  a  long-extinct  life;  not  of  mere  animal 

36 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  37 

organism,  but  of  a  being  like  ourselves,  enabling  us, 
by  studying  their  hieroglyphic  significance,  to  deci 
pher  and  see  clearly  into  the  mystery  of  existence 
centuries  ago.  The  dead  generations  live  again  in 
these  old  self-biographies.  Incidentally,  uninten 
tionally,  yet  in  the  simplest  and  most  natural  man 
ner,  they  make  us  familiar  with  all  the  phenomena 
of  life  in  the  by-gone  ages.  We  are  brought  in  con 
tact  with  actual  flesh-and-blood  men  and  women, 
not  the  ghostly  outline  figures  which  pass  for  such 
in  what  is  called  History.  The  horn  lantern  of  the 
biographer,  by  the  aid  of  which,  with  painful  minute 
ness,  he  chronicled,  from  day  to  day,  his  own  out 
goings  and  incomings,  making  visible  to  us  his  piti 
ful  wants,  labors,  trials,  and  tribulations,  of  the 
stomach  and  of  the  conscience,  sheds,  at  times,  a 
strong  clear  light  upon  contemporaneous  activities ; 
what  seemed  before  half-fabulous,  rises  up  in  distinct 
and  full  proportions;  we  look  at  statesmen,  philoso 
phers,  and  poets  with  the  eyes  of  those  who  lived 
perchance  their  next-door  neighbors,  and  sold  them 
beer,  and  mutton,  and  household  stuffs,  had  access 
to  their  kitchens,  and  took  note  of  the  fashion  of 
their  wigs  and  the  color-of  their  breeches.  Without 
some  such  light,  all  history  would  be  just  about  as 
unintelligible  and  unreal  as  a  dimly  remembered 
dream. 

The  journals  of  the  early  Friends  or  Quakers  are 
in  this  respect  invaluable.  Little,  it  is  true,  can  be 
said,  as  a  general  thing,  of  their  literary  merits. 
Their  authors  were  plain,  earnest  men  and  women, 


38  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

chiefly  intent  upon  the  substance  of  things,  and 
having  withal  a  strong  testimony  to  bear  against 
carnal  wit  and  outside  show  and  ornament.  Yet, 
even  the  scholar  may  well  admire  the  power  of  cer 
tain  portions  of  George  Fox's  Journal,  where  a 
strong  spirit  clothes  its  utterance  in  simple,  down 
right  Saxon  words  ;  the  quiet  and  beautiful  enthu 
siasm  of  Pennington  ;  the  torrent  energy  of  Edward 
Burrough  ;  the  serene  wisdom  of  Penn  ;  the  logical 
acuteness  of  Barclay ;  the  honest  truthfulness  of 
Sevvell  ;  the  wit  and  humor  of  John  Roberts  (for 
even  Quakerism  had  its  apostolic  jokers  and  drab- 
coated  Robert  Halls)  ;  and  last,  not  least,  the  simple 
beauty  of  Woolman's  Journal,  the  modest  record 
of  a  life  of  good  works  and  love. 

Let  us  look  at  the  "  Life  of  Thomas  Ellwood," 
The  book  before  us  is  a  hardly  used  Philadelphia 
reprint,  bearing  date  of  1775.  The  original  was 
published  some  sixty  years  before.  It  is  not  a  book 
to  be  found  in  fashionable  libraries,  or  noticed  in 
fashionable  reviews,  but  it  is  none  the  less  deserving 
of  attention. 

Ellwood  was  born  in  1639,  in  the  little  town  of 
Crowell,  in  Oxfordshire.  Old  Walter,  his  father, 
was  of  "  gentlemanly  lineage,"  and  held  a  commis 
sion  of  the  peace  under  Charles  I.  One  of  his  most 
intimate  friends  was  Isaac  Pennington,  a  gentleman 
of  estate  and  good  reputation,  whose  wife,  the  widow 
of  Sir  John  Springette,  was  a  lady  of  superior 
endowments.  Her  only  daughter,  Gulielma,  was 
the  playmate  and  companion  of  Thomas.  On  mak- 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  39 

ing  this  family  a  visit,  in  1658,  in  company  with  his 
father,  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  they  had  united 
with  the  Quakers,  a  sect  then  little  known,  and  every 
where  spoken  against.  Passing  through  the  vista 
of  nearly  two  centuries,  let  us  cross  the  threshold, 
and  look  with  the  eyes  of  young  Ellwood  upon  this 
Quaker  family.  It  will  doubtless  give  us  a  good 
idea  of  the  earnest  and  solemn  spirit  of  that  age  of 
religious  awakening. 

"  So  great  a  change  from  a  free,  debonair,  and 
courtly  sort  of  behavior,  which  we  had  formerly 
found  there,  into  so  strict  a  gravity  as  they  now 
received  us  with,  did  not  a  little  amuse  us,  and  dis 
appointed  our  expectations  of  such  a  pleasant  visit 
as  we  had  promised  ourselves. 

"  For  my  part,  I  sought,  and  at  length  found 
means  to  cast  myself  into  the  company  of  the 
daughter,  whom  I  found  gathering  flowers  in  the 
garden,  attended  by  her  maid,  also  a  Quaker.  But 
when  I  addressed  her  after  my  accustomed  manner, 
with  intention  to  engage  her  in  discourse,  on  the 
foot  of  our  former  acquaintance,  though  she  treated 
me  with  a  courteous  mien,  yet,  as  young  as  she  was, 
the  gravity  of  her  looks  and  behavior  struck  such  an 
awe  upon  me  that  I  found  myself  not  so  much 
master  of  myself  as  to  pursue  any  further  converse 
with  her. 

"  We  stayed  dinner,  which  was  very  handsome, 
and  lacked  nothing  to  recommend  it  to  me  but  the 
want  of  mirth  and  pleasant  discourse,  which  we 
could  neither  have  with  them,  nor,  by  reason  of 


40  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

them,  with  one  another ;  the  weightiness  which  was 
upon  their  spirits  and  countenances  keeping  down 
the  lightness  that  would  have  been  up  in  ours." 

Not  long  after,  they  made  a  second  visit  to  their 
sober  friends,  spending  several  days,  during  which 
they  attended  a  meeting  in  a  neighboring  farm 
house,  where  we  were  introduced  by  Ellwood  to 
two  remarkable  personages,  Edward  Burrough,  the 
friend  and  fearless  reprover  of  Cromwell,  and  by  far 
the  most  eloquent  preacher  of  his  sect  ;  and  James 
Nayler,  whose  melancholy  after-history  of  fanaticism, 
cruel  sufferings,  and  beautiful  repentance,  is  so  well 
known  to  the  readers  of  English  history  under  the 
Protectorate.  Under  the  preaching  of  these  men, 
and  the  influence  of  the  Pennington  family,  young 
Ellwood  was  brought  into  fellowship  with  the 
Quakers.  Of  the  old  Justice's  sorrow  and  indigna 
tion  at  this  sudden  blasting  of  his  hopes  and  wishes 
in  respect  to  his  son,  and  of  the  trials  and  difficul 
ties  of  the  latter  in  his  new  vocation,  it  is  now 
scarcely  worth  while  to  speak.  Let  us  step  forward 
a  few  years,  to  1662,  considering  meantime  how 
matters,  political  and  spiritual,  are  changed  in  that 
brief  period.  Cromwell,  the  Maccabeus  of  Puritan 
ism,  is  no  longer  among  men  ;  Charles  the  Second 
sits  in  his  place  ;  profane  and  licentious  cavaliers 
have  thrust  aside  the  sleek-haired,  painful-faced 
Independents,  who  used  to  groan  approval  to  the 
scriptural  illustrations  of  Harrison  and  Fleetwood ; 
men  easy  of  virtue,  without  sincerity,  either  in 
religion  or  politics,  occupying  the  places  made 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  41 

honorable  by  the  Miltons,  Whitlocks,  and  Vanes  of 
the  Commonwealth.  Having  this  change  in  view, 
the  light  which  the  farthing  candle  of  Ellwood  sheds 
upon  one  of  these  illustrious  names  will  not  be  un 
welcome.  In  his  intercourse  with  Penn,  and  other 
learned  Quakers,  he  had  reason  to  lament  his  own 
deficiencies  in  scholarship,  and  his  friend  Penning- 
ton  undertook  to  put  him  in  away  of  remedying  the 
defect. 

"  He  had,"  says  Ellwood,  "an  intimate  acquain 
tance  with  Dr.  Paget,a  physician  of  note  in  London, 
and  he  with  John  Milton,  a  gentleman  of  great  note 
for  learning  throughout  the  learned  world,  for  the 
accurate  pieces  he  had  written  on  various  subjects 
and  occasions. 

"This  person,  having  filled  a  public  station  in  the 
former  times,  lived  a  private  and  retired  life  in  Lon 
don,  and,  having  lost  his  sight,  kept  always  a  man  to 
read  for  him,  which  usually  was  the  son  of  some 
gentleman  of  his  acquaintance,  whom,  in  kindness, 
he  took  to  improve  in  his  learning. 

"  Thus,  by  the  mediation  of  my  friend  Isaac 
Pennington  with  Dr.  Paget,  and  through  him  with 
John  Milton,  was  I  admitted  to  come  to  him,  not  as 
a  servant  to  him,  nor  to  be  in  the  house  with  him, 
but  only  to  have  the  liberty  of  coming  to  his  house 
at  certain  hours  when  I  would,  and  read  to  him 
what  books  he  should  appoint,  which  was  all  the 
favor  I  desired. 

"  He  received  me  courteously,  as  well  for  the  sake 
of  Dr.  Paget,  who  introduced  me,  as  of  Isaac  Pen- 


42  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

nington,  who  recommended  me,  to  both  of  whom 
he  bore  a  good  respect.  And,  having  inquired 
divers  things  of  me,  with  respect  to  my  former  pro 
gression  in  learning,  he  dismissed  me,  to  provide 
myself  with  such  accommodations  as  might  be  most 
suitable  to  my  studies. 

"  I  went,  therefore,  and  took  lodgings  as  near  to 
his  house  (which  was  then  in  Jewen  Street)  as  I  con-' 
veniently  could,  and  from  thenceforward  went  every 
day,  in  the  afternoon,  except  on  the  first  day  of  the 
week,  and,  sitting  by  him  in  his  dining-room,  read  to 
him  such  books  in  the  Latin  tongue  as  he  pleased 
to  have  me  read. 

"  He  perceiving  with  what  earnest  desire  I  had 
pursued  learning,  gave  me  not  only  all  the  encour 
agement,  but  all  the  help  he  could.  For,  having  a 
curious  ear,  he  understood  by  my  tone  when  I 
understood  what  I  read  and  when  I  did  not,  and 
accordingly  would  stop  me,  examine  me,  and  open 
the  most  difficult  passages  to  me." 

Thanks,  worthy  Thomas,  for  this  glimpse  into 
John  Milton's  dining-room  ! 

He  had  been  with  "  Master  Milton,"  as  he  calls 
him,  only  a  few  weeks,  when,  being  one  "  first  day 
morning,"  at  the  Bull  and  Mouth  meeting,  Alders- 
gate,  the  trainbands  of  the  city,  "  with  great  noise 
and  clamor,"  headed  by  Major  Rosewell,  fell  upon 
him  and  his  friends.  The  immediate  cause  of  this 
onslaught  upon  quiet  worshipers  was  the  famous 
plot  of  the  Fifth  Monarchy  men,  grim  old  fanatics, 
who  (like  the  Millerites  of  the  present  day)  had 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  43 

been  waiting  long  for  the  personal  reign  of  Christ 
and  the  saints  upon  earth,  and  in  their  zeal  to  hasten 
such  a  consummation,  had  sallied  into  London 
streets  with  drawn  swords  and  loaded  matchlocks. 
The  government  took  strong  measures  for  suppress 
ing  dissenters'  meetings  or  "  conventicles"  ;  and  the 
poor  Quakers,  although  not  at  all  implicated  in  the 
disturbance,  suffered  more  severely  than  any  others. 
Let  us  look  at  the  "  freedom  of  conscience  and  wor 
ship  "  in  England  under  that  irreverent  Defender 
of  the  Faith,  Charles  II.  Ell  wood  says  :  "  He  that 
commanded  the  party  gave  us  first  a  general  charge 
to  come  out  of  the  room.  But  we,  who  came 
thither  at  God's  requiring  to  worship  Him  (like 
that  good  man  of  old,  who  said,  we  ought  to  obey 
God  rather  than  man),  stirred  not,  but  kept  our 
places.  Whereupon,  he  sent  some  of  his  soldiers 
among  us,  with  command  to  drag  or  drive  us  out, 
which  they  did  roughly  enough."  Think  of  it : 
grave  men  and  women,  and  modest  maidens,  sitting 
there  with  calm,  impassive  countenances,  motionless 
as  death,  the  pikes  of  the  soldiery  closing  about 
them  in  a  circle  of  bristling  steel !  Brave  and  true 
ones  !  Not  in  vain  did  ye  thus  oppose  God's  silence 
to  the  Devil's  uproar  ;  Christian  endurance  and  calm 
persistence  in  the  exercise  of  your  rights  as  English 
men  and  men  to  the  hot  fury  of  impatient  tyranny ! 
From  your  day  down  to  this,  the  world  has  been 
the  better  for  your  faithfulness. 

Ellwood   and   some   thirty   of    his    friends   were 
marched  off  to  prison  in  Old  Bridewell,  which,  as  well 


44  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

as  nearly  all  the  other  prisons,  was  already  crowded 
with  Quaker  prisoners.  One  of  the  rooms  of  the 
prison  was  used  as  a  torture  chamber.  "  I  was 
almost  affrighted,"  says  Ellwood,  "  by  the  dismal- 
ness  of  the  place;  for,  besides  that  the  walls  were 
all  laid  over  with  black,  from  top  to  bottom,  there 
stood  in  the  middle  a  great  whipping-post. 

"  The  manner  of  whipping  there  is,  to  strip  the 
party  to  the  skin,  from  the  waist  upward,  and,  hav 
ing  fastened  him  to  the  whipping-post  (so  that  he 
can  neither  resist  nor  shun  the  strokes),  to  lash  his 
naked  body  with  long,  slender  twigs  of  holly,  which 
will  bend  almost  like  thongs  around  the  body  ;  and 
these,  having  little  knots  upon  them,  tear  the  skin 
and  flesh,  and  give  extreme  pain." 

To  this  terrible  punishment  aged  men  and  deli 
cately  nurtured  young  females  were  often  subjected, 
during  this  season  of  hot  persecution. 

From  the  Bridewell,  Ellwood  was  at  length  re 
moved  to  Newgate,  and  thrust  in,  with  other 
"  Friends,"  amid  the  common  felons.  He  speaks 
of  this  prison,  with  its  thieves,  murderers,  and  prosti 
tutes,  its  over-crowded  apartments,  and  loathsome 
cells,  as  "  a  hell  upon  earth."  In  a  closet,  adjoining 
the  room  where  he  was  lodged,  lay  for  several  days 
the  quartered  bodies  of  Phillips,  Tongue,  and  Gibbs, 
the  leaders  of  the  Fifth  Monarchy  rising,  frightful 
and  loathsome,  as  they  came  from  the  bloody  hands 
of  the  executioners!  These  ghastly  remains  were 
at  length  obtained  by  the  friends  of  the  dead,  and 
buried.  The  heads  were  ordered  to  be  prepared  for 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  45 

setting  up  in  different  parts  of  the  city.  Read  this 
grim  passage  of  description  : 

"  I  saw  the  heads  when  they  were  brought  to  be 
boiled.  The  hangman  fetched  them  in  a  dirty 
basket,  out  of  some  by-place,  and  setting  them  down 
among  the  felons,  he  and  they  made  sport  of  them. 
They  took  them  by  the  hair,  flouting,  jeering,  and 
laughing  at  them  ;  and  then,  giving  them  some  ill 
names,  boxed  them  on  their  ears  and  cheeks  ;  which 
done,  the  hangman  put  them  into  his  kettle,  and 
parboiled  them  with  bay  salt  and  cummin  seed  : 
that  to  keep  them  from  putrefaction,  and  this  to 
keep  off  the  fowls  from  seizing  upon  them.  The 
whole  sight,  as  well  that  of  the  bloody  quarters 
first,  as  this  of  the  heads  afterward,  was  both  fright 
ful  and  loathsome,  and  begat  an  abhorrence  in  my 
nature." 

At  the  next  session  of  the  municipal  court  at  the 
Old  Bailey,  Ellwood  obtained  his  discharge.  After 
paying  a  visit  to  "  my  Master  Milton,"  he  made  his 
way  to  Chalfont,  the  home  of  his  friends  the  Pen- 
ningtons,  where  he  was  soon  after  engaged  as  a 
Latin  teacher.  Here  he  seems  to  have  had  his  trials 
and  temptations.  Gulielma  Springette,  the  daughter 
of  Pennington's  wife,  his  old  playmate,  had  now 
grown  to  be  "  a  fair  woman  of  marriageable  age," 
and,  as  he  informs  us,  "  very  desirable,  whether 
regard  was  had  to  her  outward  person,  which  wanted 
nothing  to  make  her  completely  comely,  or  to  the 
endowments  of  her  mind,  which  were  every  way 
extraordinary,  or  to  her  outward  fortune,  which  was 


46  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

fair."  From  all  which,  we  are  not  surprised  to  learn 
that  "she  was  secretly  and  openly  sought  for  by 
many  of  almost  every  rank  and  condition."  "  To 
whom,"  continues  Thomas,  "  in  their  respective  turns 
(till  he  at  length  came  for  whom  she  was  reserved), 
she  carried  herself  with  so  much  evenness  of  temper, 
such  courteous  freedom,  guarded  by  the  strictest 
modesty,  that  as  it  gave  encouragement  or  ground 
of  hope  to  none,  so  neither  did  it  administer  any 
matter  of  offense  or  just  cause  of  complaint  to  any." 
Beautiful  and  noble  maiden!  How  the  imag 
ination  fills  up  this  outline  lining  by  her  friend, 
and,  if  truth  must  be  told,  admirer  !  Serene,  court 
eous,  healthful  ;  a  ray  of  tenderest  and  blandest 
light,  shining  steadily  in  the  sober  gloom  of  that  old 
household  !  Confirmed  Quaker  as  she  is,  shrinking 
from  none  of  the  responsibilities  and  dangers  of  her 
profession,  and  therefore  liable  at  any  time  to  the 
penalties  of  prison  and  whipping-post,  under  that 
plain  garb  and  in  spite  of  that  "  certain  gravity  of 
look  and  behavior,"  which,  as  we  have  seen,  on  one 
occasion  awed  young  Ellwood  into  silence,  youth, 
beauty,  and  refinement  assert  their  prerogatives  ; 
love  knows  no  creed ;  the  gay,  and  titled,  and 
wealthy  crowd  around  her,  suing  in  vain  for  her 
favor. 

Followed,  like  the  tided  moon, 
She  moves  as  calmly  on, 

"  Until  he  at  length  comes  for  whom  she  was  re 
served,"  and  her  name  is  united  with  that  of  one 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  47 

worthy  even  of  her,  the  world-renowned  William 
Penn. 

Meantime,  one  cannot  but  feel  a  good  degree  of 
sympathy  with  young  Ellwood,  her  old  schoolmate 
and  playmate,  placed,  as  he  was,  in  the  same  family 
with  her,  enjoying  her  familiar  conversation  and  un 
reserved  confidence ;  and,  as  he  says,  the  "  advan 
tageous  opportunities  of  riding  and  walking  abroad 
with  her,  by  night  as  well  as  by  day,  without  any 
other  company  than  her  maid;  for  so  great,  indeed, 
was  the  confidence  that  her  mother  had  in  me,  that 
she  thought  her  daughter  safe,  if  I  was  with  her, 
even  from  the  plots  and  designs  of  others  upon 
her."  So  near,  and  yet,  alas  !  in  truth,  so  distant  ! 
The  serene  and  gentle  light  which  shone  upon  him, 
in  the  sweet  solitudes  of  Chalfont,  was  that  of  a  star, 
itself  unapproachable.  As  he  himself  meekly  in 
timates,  she  was  reserved  for  another.  He  seems  to 
have  fully  understood  his  own  position  in  respect  to 
her  ;  although,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  others,  meas 
uring  him  by  the  propensity  of  their  own  inclina 
tions,  concluded  he  would  steal  her,  run  away  with 
her,  and  marry  her."  Little  did  these  jealous  sur- 
misers  know  of  the  true  and  really  heroic  spirit  of 
the  young  Latin  master.  His  own  apology  and  de 
fense  of  his  conduct,  under  circumstances  of  tempta 
tion  which  St.  Anthony  himself  could  have  scarcely 
better  resisted,  will  not  be  amiss: 

"  I  was  not  ignorant  of  the  various  fears  which 
filled  the  jealous  heads  of  some  concerning  me, 
neither  was  I  so  stupid  nor  so  divested  of  all  human- 


48  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

ity  as  not  to  be  sensible  of  the  real  and  innate 
worth  and  virtue  which  adorned  that  excellent 
dame,  and  attracted  the  eyes  and  hearts  of  so  many, 
with  the  greatest  importunity,  to  seek  and  solicit 
her;  nor  was  I  so  devoid  of  natural  heat  as  not  to 
feel  some  sparklings  of  desire,  as  well  as  others  ; 
but  the  force  of  truth  and  sense  of  honor  suppressed 
whatever  would  have  risen  beyond  the  bounds  of 
fair  and  virtuous  friendship.  For  I  easily  foresaw, 
that,  if  I  should  have  attempted  anything  in  a  dis 
honorable  way,  by  fraud  or  force,  upon  her,  I  should 
have  thereby  brought  a  wound  upon  mine  own  soul, 
a  foul  scandal  upon  my  religious  profession,  and  an 
infamous  stain  upon  mine  honor,  which  was  far 
more  dear  unto  me  than  my  life.  Wherefore,  hav 
ing  observed  how  some  others  had  befooled  them 
selves,  by  misconstruing  her  common  kindness  (ex 
pressed  in  an  innocent,  open,  free,  and  familiar  con 
versation,  springing  from  the  abundant  affability, 
courtesy,  and  sweetness  of  her  natural  temper)  to 
be  the  effect  of  a  singular  regard  and  peculiar  affec 
tion  to  them,  I  resolved  to  shun  the  rock  whereon 
they  split ;  and,  remembering  the  saying  of  the 
poet, 

Felix  quern  faciunt  aliena  Pericula  cantum, 

I  governed  myself  in  a  free  yet  respectful  carriage 
toward  her,  thereby  preserving  a  fair  reputation 
with  my  friends,  and  enjoying  as  much  of  her  favor 
and  kindness,  in  a  virtuous  and  firm  friendship,  as 
was  fit  for  her  to  show  or  for  me  to  seek." 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  49 

Well  and  worthily  said,  poor  Thomas  !  What 
ever  might  be  said  of  others,  thou,  at  least,  wast  no 
coxcomb.  Thy  distant  and  involuntary  admiration 
of  "  the  fairGuli  "  needs,  however,  no  excuse.  Poor 
human  nature,  guard  it  as  one  may,  with  strictest 
discipline  and  painfully  cramping  environment,  will 
sometimes  act  out  itself ;  and,  in  thy  case,  not  even 
George  Fox  himself,  knowing  thy  beautiful  young 
friend  (and  doubtless  admiring  her  too,  for  he  was 
one  of  the  first  to  appreciate  and  honor  the  worth 
and  dignity  of  woman),  could  have  found  it  in  his 
heart  to  censure  thee  ! 

At  this  period,  as  was  indeed  most  natural,  our 
young  teacher  solaced  himself  with  occasional  ap 
peals  to  what  he  calls  "the  Muses."  There  is  rea 
son  to  believe,  however,  that  the  Pagan  sisterhood 
whom  he  ventured  to  invoke  seldom  graced  his  study 
with  their  personal  attendance.  In  these  rhyming 
efforts,  scattered  up  and  down  his  Journal,  there  are 
occasional  sparkles  of  genuine  wit,  and  passages  of 
keen  sarcasm,  tersely  and  fitly  expressed.  Others 
breathe  a  warm,  devotional  feeling  ;  in  the  following 
brief  prayer,  for  instance,  the  wants  of  the  humble 
Christian  are  condensed  in  a  manner  worthy  of 
Quarles  or  Herbert  : 

Oh  !  that  mine  eye  might  closed  be 
To  what  concerns  me  not  to  see  ; 
That  deafness  might  possess  mine  ear 
To  what  concerns  me  not  to  hear  ; 
That  Truth  my  tongue  might  always  tie 
From  ever  speaking  foolishly  ; 


50  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

That  no  vain  thought  might  ever  rest 
Or  be  conceived  in  my  breast ; 
That  by  each  word  and  deed  and  thought, 
Glory  may  to  my  God  be  brought ! 
But  what  are  wishes  ?    Lord,  mine  eye 
On  Thee  is  fixed,  to  Thee  I  cry  : 
Wash,  Lord,  and  purify  my  heart, 
And  make  it  clean  in  every  part ; 
And  when  'tis  clean,  Lord,  keep  it  too, 
For  that  is  more  than  I  can  do. 

The  thought  in  the  following  extracts,  from  a 
poem,  written  on  the  death  of  his  friend  Penning- 
ton's  son,  is  trite,  but  not  inaptly  or  inelegantly  ex 
pressed  : 

What  ground,  alas,  has  any  man 

To  set  his  heart  on  things  below, 
Which,  when  they  seem  most  like  to  stand, 

Fly  like  the  arrow  from  the  bow ! 
Who's  now  atop  ere  long  shall  feel 
The  circling  motion  of  the  wheel ! 

The  world  cannot  afford  a  thing 

Which  to  a  well-composed  mind 
Can  any  lasting  pleasure  bring, 

But  in  itself  its  grave  will  find. 
All  things  unto  their  center  tend — 
What  had  beginning  must  have  end  \ 

No  disappointment  can  befall 

Us,  having  Him  who's  all  in  all ! 
What  can  of  pleasure  him  prevent 
Who  hath  the  Fountain  of  Content  ^ 

In  the  year  1663  a  severe  law  was  enacted  against 
the  "  sect  called  Quakers,"  prohibiting  their  meet- 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  5* 

ings,  with  the  penalty  of  banishment  for  the  third 
offense  !  The  burden  of  the  prosecution  which  fol 
lowed  fell  upon  the  Quakers  of  the  metropolis,  large 
numbers  of  whom  were  heavily  fined,  imprisoned, 
and  sentenced  to  be  banished  from  their  native 
land.  Yet,  in  time,  our  worthy  friend  Ellwood 
came  in  for  his  own  share  of  trouble,  in  conse 
quence  of  attending  the  funeral  of  one  of  his  friends. 
An  evil-disposed  justice  of  the  county  obtained  in 
formation  of  the  Quaker  gathering;  and  while  the 
body  of  the  dead  was  "borne  on  Friends'  shoul 
ders  through  the  street,  in  order  to  be  carried  to  the 
burying-ground,  which  was  at  the  town's  end,"  says 
Ellwood,  "  he  rushed  out  upon  us  with  the  consta 
bles  and  a  rabble  of  rude  fellows  whom  he  had 
gathered  together,  and  having  his  drawn  sword  in  his 
hand,  struck  one  of  the  foremost  of  the  bearers  with 
it,  commanding  them  to  set  down  the  coffin.  But  the 
Friend  who  was  so  stricken,  being  more  concerned 
for  the  safety  of  the  dead  body  than  for  his  own, 
lest  it  should  fall,  and  any  indecency  thereupon  fol 
low,  held  the  coffin  fast ;  which  the  justice  observing, 
and  being  enraged  that  his  word  was  not  forthwith 
obeyed,  set  his  hand  to  the  coffin,  and  with  a  forcible 
thrust  threw  it  off  from  the  bearers'  shoulders,  so 
that  it  fell  to  the  ground  in  the  middle  of  the  street, 
and  there  we  were  forced  to  leave  it ;  for  the  con 
stables  and  rabble  fell  upon  us,  and  drew  some  and 
drove  others  into  the  inn.  Of  those  thus  taken," 
continues  Ellwood,  "  I  was  one.  They  picked  out 
ten  of  us,  and  sent  us  to  Aylesbury  jail." 


52  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

"  They  caused  the  body  to  lie  in  the  open  street 
and  cartvvay,  so  that  all  travelers  that  passed, 
whether  horsemen,  coaches,  carts,  or  wagons,  were 
fain  to  break  out  of  the  way  to  go  by  it,  until  it  was 
almost  night.  And  then,  having  caused  a  grave  to 
be  made  in  the  unconsecrated  part  of  what  is  called 
the  Church-yard,  they  forcibly  took  the  body  from 
the  widow,  and  buried  it  there." 

He  remained  a  prisoner  only  about  two  months, 
during  which  period  he  comforted  himself  by  such 
verse-making  as  follows,  reminding  us  of  similar 
enigmas  in  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress : 

Lo  !  a  Riddle  for  the  wise, 
In  the  which  a  Mystery  lies. 

RIDDLE. 

Some  men  are  free  whilst  they  in  prison  lie  ; 
Others  who  ne'er  saw  prison,  captives  die. 

•   \  CAUTION. 

He  that  can  receive  it  may. 
He  that  cannot,  let  him  stay ; 
Not  be  hasty,  but  suspend 
Judgment  till  he  sees  the  end. 

SOLUTION. 

He's  only  free  indeed,  who's  free  from  sin, 
And  he  is  fastest  bound,  that's  bound  therein. 

In  the  mean  time,  where  is  our  "  Master  Milton  "  ? 
We  left  him  deprived  of  his  young  companion  and 
reader,  sitting  lonely  in  his  small  dining-room  in 
Jewen  Street.  It  is  now  the  year  1665 ;  is  not 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  53 

the  pestilence  in  London?  A  sinful  and  godless 
city,  with  its  bloated  bishops,  fawning  around  the 
Nell  Gwynns  of  a  licentious  and  profane  Defender  of 
the  Faith  ;  its  swaggering  and  drunken  cavaliers  : 
its  ribald  jesters;  its  obscene  ballad-singers:  its 
loathsome  prisons,  crowded  with  God-fearing  men 
and  women  ;  is  not  the  measure  of  its  iniquity  al 
ready  filled  up?  Three  years  only  have  passed 
since  the  terrible  prayer  of  Vane  went  upward  from 
the  scaffold  on  Tower  Hill :  "  When  my  blood  is 
shed  upon  the  block,  let  it,  oh  God,  have  a  voice 
afterward  !  "  Audible  to  thy  ear,  oh  bosom  friend 
of  the  martyr !  has  that  blood  cried  from  earth ; 
and  now,  how  fearfully  is  it  answered  !  Like  the 
ashes  which  the  Seer  of  the  Hebrews  cast  toward 
Heaven,  it  has  returned  in  boils  and  blains  upon 
the  proud  and  oppressive  city.  John  Milton,  sitting 
blind  in  Jewen  Street,  has  heard  the  toll  of  the 
death  bells,  and  the  night-long  rumble  of  the  burial- 
carts,  and  the  terrible  summons,  "  BRING  OUT  YOUR 
DEAD!"  The  Angel  of  the  Plague,  in  yellow 
mantle,  purple-spotted,  walks  the  streets.  Why 
should  he  tarry  in  a  doomed  city,  forsaken  of  God  ! 
Is  not  the  command,  even  to  him,  "Arise!  and 
flee  for  thy  life."  In  some  green  nook  of  the  quiet 
country,  he  may  finish  the  great  work  which  his 
hands  have  found  to  do.  He  bethinks  him  of 
his  old  friends,  the  Penningtons,  and  his  young 
Quaker  companion,  the  patient  and  gentle  Ellwood. 
"Wherefore,"  says  the  latter,  "some  little  time  be- 
fore  I  went  to  Aylesbury  jail,  I  was  desired  by  my 


54  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

quondam  Master  Milton  to  take  an  house  for  him 
in  the  neighborhood  where  I  dwelt,  that  he  might 
go  out  of  the  city  for  the  safety  of  himself  and  his 
family,  the  pestilence  then  growing  hot  in  London. 
I  took  a  pretty  box  for  him  in  Giles  Chalfont,  a 
mile  from  me,  of  which  I  gave  him  notice,  and  in 
tended  to  have  waited  on  him  and  seen  him  well 
settled,  but  was  prevented  by  that  imprisonment. 
But  now,  being  released  and  returned  home,  I  soon 
made  a  visit  to  him,  to  welcome  him  into  the 
country.  After  some  common  discourse  had  passed 
between  us,  he  called  for  a  manuscript  of  his,  which 
having  brought,  he  delivered  to  me,  bidding  me 
take  it  home  with  me  and  read  it  at  my  leisure,  and 
when  I  had  so  done,  return  it  to  him  with  my  judg 
ment  thereupon." 

Now,  what  does  the  reader  think  young  Ellwood 
carried  in  his  gray  coat  pocket  across  the  dikes  and 
hedges  and  through  the  green  lanes  of  Giles  Chalfont 
that  autumn  day?  Let  us  look  farther:  "  When  I 
came  home,  and  had  set  myself  to  read  it,  I  found  it 
was  that  excellent  poem  which  he  entitled  Paradise 
Lost.  After  I  had,  with  the  best  attention,  read  it 
through,  I  made  him  another  visit ;  and  returning 
his  book  with  due  acknowledgment  of  the  favor  he 
had  done  me  in  communicating  it  to  me,  he  asked 
me  how  I  liked  it,  and  what  I  thought  of  it,  which 
I  modestly  but  freely  told  him  ;  and,  after  some  far 
ther  discourse  about  it,  I  pleasantly  said  to  him, 
'Thou  hast  said  much  here  of  Paradise  Lost ;  what 
hast  thou  to  say  of  Paradise  Found?  '  He  made  me 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  55 

no  answer,  but  sat  some  time  in  a  muse,  then  brake 
off  that  discourse,  and  fell  upon  another  subject." 

"  I  modestly  but  freely  told  him  what  I  thought  " 
of  Paradise  Lost  !  What  he  told  him  remains  a 
mystery.  One  would  like  to  know  more  precisely 
what  the  first  critical  reader  of  that  song  of  "  Man's 
first  disobedience"  thought  of  it.  Fancy  the  young 
Quaker  and  blind  Milton  sitting  some  pleasant 
afternoon  of  the  autumn  of  that  old  year,  in  "  the 
pretty  box  "  at  Chalfont,  the  soft  wind  through  the 
open  window  lifting  the  thin  hair  of  the  glorious  old 
poet !  Backslidden  England,  plague-smitten,  and 
accursed  with  her  faithless  Church  and  libertine  king, 
knows  little  of  poor  "  Master  Milton,"  and  takes 
small  note  of  his  puritanic  verse-making.  Alone, 
with  his  humble  friend,  he  sits  there,  conning  over 
that  poem  which,  he  fondly  hoped  the  world,  which 
had  grown  all  dark  and  strange  to  the  author, 
"  would  not  willingly  let  die."  The  suggestion  in 
respect  to  Paradise  Found,  to  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
"  he  made  no  answer,  but  sat  some  time  in  a  muse," 
seems  not  to  have  been  lost ;  for,  "  after  the  sick 
ness  was  over,"  continues  Ellwood,  "and  the  city 
well  cleansed,  and  become  safely  habitable  again,  he 
returned  thither ;  and  when  afterward  I  waited  on 
him  there,  which  I  seldom  failed  of  doing  whenever 
my  occasions  drew  me  to  London,  he  showed  me 
his  second  poem,  called  Paradise  Gained ;  and,  in  a 
pleasant  tone,  said  to  me,  *  This  is  owing  to  you,  for 
you  put  it  into  my  head  by  the  question  you  put  to 
me  at  Chalfont,  which  before  I  had  not  thought  of." 


56  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Golden  days  were  these  for  the  young  Latin 
reader,  even  if  it  be  true,  as  we  suspect,  that  he  was 
himself  very  far  from  appreciating  the  glorious 
privilege  which  he  enjoyed,  of  the  familiar  friend 
ship  and  confidence  of  Milton.  But  they  could  not 
last.  His  amiable  host,  Isaac  Pennington,  a  blame 
less  and  quiet  country  gentleman,  was  dragged  from 
his  house  by  a  military  force,  and  lodged  in  Ayles- 
bury  jail ;  his  wife  and  family  forcibly  ejected  from 
their  pleasant  home,  which  was  seized  upon  by  the 
government  as  security  for  the  fines  imposed  upon 
its  owner.  The  plague  was  in  the  village  of  Ayles- 
bury,  and  in  the  very  prison  itself ;  but  the  noble- 
hearted  Mary  Pennington  followed  her  husband, 
sharing  with  him  the  dark  peril.  Poor  Ellwood, 
while  attending  a  monthly  meeting  at  Hedgerly, 
with  six  others  (among  them  one  Morgan  Watkins, 
a  poor  old  Welshman,  who,  painfully  endeavoring 
to  utter  his  testimony  in  his  own  dialect,  was  sus 
pected  by  the  Dogberry  of  a  justice  of  being  a 
Jesuit  trolling  over  his  Latin),  was  arrested,  and 
committed  to  Wiccomb  House  of  Correction. 

This  was  a  time  of  severe  trial  for  the  sect  with 
which  Ellwood  had  connected  himself.  In  the  very 
midst  of  the  pestilence,  when  thousands  perished 
weekly  in  London,  fifty-four  Quakers  were  marched 
through  the  almost  deserted  streets,  and  placed  on 
board  a  ship,  for  the  purpose  of  being  conveyed,  ac 
cording  to  their  sentence  of  banishment,  to  the 
West  Indies.  The  ship  lay  for  a  long  time,  with 
many  others  similarly  situated,  a  helpless  prey  to 


THOMA  S  ELL  WOOD.  5  7 

the  pestilence.  Through  that  terrible  autumn,  the 
prisoners  sat  waiting  for  the  summons  of  the  ghastly 
Destroyer;  and,  from  their  floating  dungeon, 

Heard  the  groan 

Of  agonizing  ships  from  shore  to  shore  ; 
Heard  nightly  plunged  beneath  the  sullen  wave 
The  frequent  corse. 

When  the  vessel  at  length  set  sail,  of  the  fifty-four 
who  went  on  board,  twenty-seven  only  were  living. 
A  Dutch  privateer  captured  her  when  two  days  out, 
and  carried  the  prisoners  to  North  Holland,  where 
they  were  set  at  liberty.  The  condition  of  the  jails 
in  the  city,  where  were  large  numbers  of  Quakers, 
was  dreadful  in  the  extreme.  Ill  ventilated,  crowded, 
and  loathsome  with  the  accumulated  filth  of  cen 
turies,  they  invited  the  disease  which  daily  deci 
mated  their  cells.  "  Go  on  !  "  says  Pennington,  writ 
ing  to  the  king  and  bishops  from  his  plague-infected 
cell  in  the  Aylesbury  prison,  "  try  it  out  with  the 
Spirit  of  the  Lord,  come  forth  with  your  laws,  and 
prisons,  and  spoiling  of  goods,  and  banishment,  and 
death,  if  the  Lord  please,  and  see  if  ye  can  carry  it ! 
Whom  the  Lord  loveth,  He  can  save  at  His  pleasure. 
Hath  He  begun  to  break  our  bonds  and  deliver  us, 
and  shall  we  now  distrust  Him?  Are  we  in  a  worse 
condition  than  Israel  was  when  the  sea  was  before 
them,  the  mountains  on  either  side,  and  the  Egyp 
tians  behind  pursuing  them  ?  " 

Brave  men  and  faithful !     It  is  not  necessary  that 
the  present   generation,    now   quietly   reaping   the 


5^  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

fruit  of  your  heroic  endurance,  should  see  eye  to 
eye  with  you  in  respect  to  all  your  testimonies  and 
beliefs,  in  order  to  recognize  your  claim  to  gratitude 
and  admiration.  For,  in  an  age  of  hypocritical  hol- 
lowness  and  mean  self-seeking,  when,  with  noble 
exceptions,  the  very  Puritans  of  Cromwell's  Reign  of 
the  Saints  were  taking  profane  lessons  from  their  old 
enemies,  and  putting  on  an  outside  show  of  con 
formity  for  the  sake  of  place  or  pardon,  ye  main 
tained  the  austere  dignity  of  virtue,  and,  with  King 
and  Church  and  Parliament  arrayed  against  you, 
vindicated  the  Rights  of  conscience,  at  the  cost  of 
home,  fortune,  and  life.  English  liberty  owes  more 
to  your  unyielding  firmness  than  to  the  blows 
stricken  for  her  at  Worcester  and  Naseby. 

In  1667,  we  find  the  Latin  teacher  in  attendance 
at  a  great  meeting  of  Friends  in  London,  convened, 
at  the  suggestion  of  George  Fox,  for  the  purpose  of 
settling  a  little  difficulty  which  had  arisen  among 
the  Friends,  even  under  the  pressure  of  the  severest 
persecution,  relative  to  the  very  important  matter 
of  "  wearing  the  hat."  George  Fox,  in  his  love  of 
truth  and  sincerity,  in  word  and  action,  had  dis 
countenanced  the  fashionable  doffing  of  the  hat, 
and  other  flattering  obeisances  toward  men  holding 
stations  in  Church  or  State,  as  savoring  of  man- 
worship,  giving  to  the  creature  the  reverence  only 
due  to  the  Creator,  as  undignified  and  wanting  in 
due  self-respect,  and  tending  to  support  unnatural 
and  oppressive  distinctions  among  those  equal  in 
the  sight  of  God.  But  some  of  his  disciples  evi- 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  59 

dently  made  much  more  of  this  "  hat  testimony" 
than  their  teacher.  One  John  Perrott,  who  had 
just  returned  from  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  con 
vert  the  Pope,  at  Rome  (where  that  dignitary,  after 
listening  to  his  exhortations,  and  rinding  him  in  no 
condition  to  be  benefited  by  the  spiritual  physi 
cians  of  the  Inquisition,  had  quietly  turned  him 
over  to  the  temporal  ones  of  the  Insane  Hospital), 
had  broached  the  doctrine  that,  in  public  or  pri 
vate  worship,  the  hat  was  not  to  be  taken  off  with 
out  an  immediate  revelation  or  call  to  do  so  !  Ell- 
wood  himself  seems  to  have  been  on  the  point  of 
yielding  to  this  notion,  which  appears  to  have  been 
the  occasion  of  a  good  deal  of  dissension  and  scan 
dal.  Under  these  circumstances,  to  save  truth  from 
reproach,  and  an  important  testimony  to  the  essen 
tial  equality  of  mankind  from  running  into  sheer 
fanaticism,  Fox  summoned  his  tried  and  faithful 
friends  together,  from  all  parts  of  the  United  King 
dom,  and,  as  it  appears,  with  the  happiest  result. 
Hat-revelations  were  discountenanced,  good  order 
and  harmony  re-established,  and  John  Perrott's 
beaver,  and  the  crazy  head  under  it,  were  from 
thenceforth  powerless  for  evil.  Let  those  who  are 
disposed  to  laugh  at  this  notable  Ecumenical  Council 
of  the  Hat,  consider  that  ecclesiastical  history  has 
brought  down  to  us  the  records  of  many  larger  and 
more  imposing  convocations,  wherein  grave  bishops 
and  learned  fathers  took  each  other  by  the  beard 
upon  matters  of  far  less  practical  importance. 

In  1669,  we  find  Ellwood  engaged  in  escorting  his 


60  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

fair  friend,  Gulielma,  to  her  uncle's  residence  in 
Sussex.  Passing  through  London,  and  taking  the 
Tunbridge  road,  they  stopped  at  Seven  Oak  to  dine. 
The  Duke  of  York  was  on  the  road,  with  his  guards 
and  hangers-on,  and  the  inn  was  filled  with  a  rude 
company.  "  Hastening,"  says  Ellwood,  "from  a 
place  where  we  found  nothing  but  rudeness,  the 
roysterers  who  swarmed  there,  besides  the  damning 
oaths  they  belched  out  against  each  other,  looked 
very  sourly  upon  us,  as  if  they  grudged  us 
the  horses  which  we  rode  and  the  clothes  we 
wore."  They  had  proceeded  but  a  little  distance, 
when  they  were  overtaken  by  some  half-dozen 
drunken  rough-riding  cavaliers,  of  the  Wildrake 
stamp,  in  full  pursuit  after  the  beautiful  Quakeress. 
One  of  them  impudently  attempted  to  pull  her  upon 
his  horse  before  him,  but  was  held  at  bay  by  Ell- 
wood,  who  seems,  on  this  occasion,  to  have  relied 
somewhat  upon  his  "stick,"  in  defending  his  fair 
charge.  Calling  up  Gulielma's  servant,  he  bade 
him  ride  on  one  side  of  his  mistress,  while  he 
guarded  her  on  the  other.  "But  he,"  says  Ell- 
wood,  "not  thinking  it  perhaps  decent  to  ride  so 
near  his  mistress,  left  room  enough  for  another  to 
ride  between."  In  dashed  the  drunken  retainer,  and 
Gulielma  was  once  more  in  peril.  It  was  clearly  no 
time  for  exhortations  and  expostulations,  "So,"  says 
Ellwood,  "  I  chopped  in  upon  him,  by  a  nimble 
turn,  and  kept  him  at  bay.  I  told  him  I  had  hitherto 
spared  him,  but  wished  him  not  to  provoke  me 
further.  This  I  spoke  in  such  a  tone  as  bespoke  an 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  6 1 

high  resentment  of  the  abuse  put  upon  us,  and 
withal,  pressed  him  so  hard  with  my  horse,  that  I 
suffered  him  not  to  come  up  again  to  Guli."  By 
this  time,  it  became  evident  to  the  companions  of 
the  ruffianly  assailant  that  the  young  Quaker  was 
in  earnest,  and  they  hastened  to  interfere.  "  For 
they,"  says  Ellwood,  "  seeing  the  contest  rise  so 
high,  and  probably  fearing  it  would  rise  higher,  not 
knowing  where  it  might  stop,  came  in  to  part  us ; 
which  they  did,  by  taking  him  away." 

Escaping  from  these  sons  of  Belial,  Ellwood  and 
his  fair  companion  rode  on  through  Tunbridge 
Wells,  "  the  street  thronged  with  men,  who  looked 
very  earnestly  at  them,  but  offered  them  no  affront," 
and  arrived,  late  at  night,  in  a  driving  rain,  at  the 
mansion  house  of  Herbert  Springette.  The  fiery 
old  gentleman  was  so  indignant  at  the  insult  offered 
to  his  niece,  that  he  was  with  difficulty  dissuaded 
from  demanding  satisfaction  at  the  hands  of  the 
Duke  of  York. 

This  seems  to  have  been  his  last  ride  with  Guli- 
elma.  She  was  soon  after  married  to  William  Penn, 
and  took  up  her  abode  at  Worminghurst,  in  Sussex. 
How  blessed  and  beautiful  was  that  union  may  be 
understood  from  the  following  paragraph  of  a  letter, 
written  by  her  husband,  on  the  eve  of  his  departure 
for  America  to  lay  the  foundations  of  a  Christian 
colony. 

"  My  dear  wife,  remember  thou  wast  the  love  of 
my  youth,  and  much  the  joy  of  my  life;  the  most 
beloved,  as  well  as  the  most  worthy  of  all  my  earthly 


62  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

comforts ;  and  the  reason  of  that  love  was  more  thy 
inward  than  thy  outward  excellences,  which  yet  were 
many.  God  knows,  and  thou  knowest  it,  I  can  say 
it  was  a  match  of  Providence's  making  and  God's 
image  in  us  both  was  the  first  thing  and  the  most 
amiable  and  engaging  ornament  in  our  eyes." 

About  this  time,  our  friend  Thomas,  seeing  that 
his  old  playmate  at  Chalfont  was  destined  for  another, 
turned  his  attention  toward  a  "young  Friend,  named 
Mary  Ellis."  He  had  been  for  several  years  ac 
quainted  with  her,  but  now  he  "  found  his  heart 
secretly  drawn  and  inclining  toward  her."  "At 
length,"  he  tells  us,  "  as  I  was  sitting  all  alone,  waiting 
upon  the  Lord  for  counsel  and  guidance  in  this,  in  itself 
and  to  me,  important  affair,  I  felt  a  word  sweetly 
arise  in  me,  as  if  I  had  heard  a  voice  which  said, 
Go,  and  prevail !  and  Faith  springing  in  my  heart  at 
the  word,  I  immediately  rose  and  went,  nothing 
doubting."  On  arriving  at  her  residence,  he  states 
that  he  "solemnly  opened  his  mind  to  her,  which 
was  a  great  surprisal  to  her,  for  she  had  taken  in  an 
apprehension,  as  others  had  also  done,"  that  his  eye 
had  been  fixed  elsewhere  and  nearer  home.  "  I  used 
not  many  words  to  her,"  he  continues,  "  but  I  felt  a 
Divine  Power  went  along  with  the  words,  and  fixed 
the  matter  expressed  by  them  so  fast  in  her  breast, 
that,  as  she  afterward  acknowledged  to  me,  she 
could  not  shut  it  out." 

"  I  continued,"  he  says,  "  my  visits  to  my  best  be 
loved  Friend  until  we  married,  which  was  on  the  28th 
day  of  the  eighth  month,  1669.  We  took  each  other 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  63 

in  a  select  meeting  of  the  ancient  and  grave  Friends 
of  that  country.  A  very  solemn  meeting  it  was  and 
in  a  weighty  frame  of  spirit  we  were."  His  wife 
seems  to  have  had  some  estate  ;  and  Ellwood,  with 
that  nice  sense  of  justice  which  marked  all  his  actions, 
immediately  made  his  will,  securing  to  her,  in  case 
of  his  decease,  all  her  own  goods  and  moneys  as  well 
as  all  that  he  had  himself  acquired  before  marriage. 
"  Which,"  he  tells,  "  was  indeed  but  little,  yet  by  all 
that  little,  more  than  I  had  ever  given  her  ground 
to  expect  with  me."  His  father,  who  was  yet  unrec 
onciled  to  the  son's  religious  views,  found  fault  with 
his  marriage  on  the  ground  that  it  was  unlawful 
and  unsanctioned  by  priest  or  liturgy,  and  conse 
quently  refused  to  render  him  any  pecuniary  assist 
ance.  Yet  in  spite  of  this  and  other  trials,  he  seems 
to  have  preserved  his  serenity  of  spirit.  After  an 
unpleasant  interview  with  his  father,  on  one  occasion, 
he  wrote,  at  his  lodgings  in  an  inn,  in  London,  what 
he  calls  "  A  song  of  Praise."  An  extract  from  it 
will  serve  to  show  the  spirit  of  the  good  man  in 
affliction : 

Unto  the  glory  of  Thy  Holy  Name, 

Eternal  God  !  whom  I  both  love  and  fear, 

I  hereby  do  declare,  I  never  came 

Before  Thy  throne,  and  found  Thee  loth  to  hear, 
But  always  ready  with  an  open  ear, 

And  though,  sometimes,  Thou  seem'st  Thy  face  to  hide, 
As  one  that  had  withdrawn  his  love  from  me, 

'Tis  that  my  faith  may  to  the  full  be  tried, 
And  that  I  thereby  may  the  better  see 
How  weak  I  am  when  not  upheld  by  Thee ! 


64  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

The  next  year,  1670,  an  act  of  Parliament,  in  rela 
tion  to  "  Conventicles,"  provided  that  any  person 
who  should  be  present  at  any  meeting,  under  color 
or  pretense  of  any  exercise  of  religion,  in  other 
manner  than  according  to  the  liturgy  and  practice  of 
the  Church  of  England  "  should  be  liable  to  fines  of 
from  five  to  ten  shillings  ;  and  any  person  preaching 
at  or  giving  his  house  for  the  meeting,  to  a  fine  of 
twenty  pounds;  one-third  of  the  fines  being  received 
by  the  informer  or  informers."  As  a  natural  conse 
quence  of  such  a  law,  the  vilest  scoundrels  in  the  land 
set  up  the  trade  of  informers  and  heresy-hunters. 

Wherever  a  dissenting  meeting  or  burial  took  place, 
there  was  sure  to  be  a  mercenary  spy,  ready  to  bring 
a  complaint  against  all  in  attendance.  The  Inde 
pendents  and  Baptists  ceased,  in  a  great  measure,  to 
hold  public  meetings,  yet  even  they  did  not  escape 
prosecution.  Bunyan,  for  instance,  in  these  days, 
was  dreaming,  like  another  Jacob,  of  angels  ascend 
ing  and  descending,  in  Bedford  prison.  But  upon 
the  poor  Quakers  fell,  as  usual,  the  great  force  of  the 
unjust  enactment.  Some  of  these  spies  or  informers, 
men  of  sharp  wit,  close  countenances,  pliant  tempers, 
and  skill  in  dissimulation,  took  the  guise  of  Quak 
ers,  Independents,  or  Baptists  as  occasion  required, 
thrusting  themselves  into  the  meetings  of  the  pro 
scribed  sects,  ascertaining  the  number  who  attended, 
their  rank  and  condition,  and  then  informing  against 
them.  Ellwood,  in  his  journal  for  1670,  describes  sev 
eral  of  these  emissaries  of  evil.  One  of  them  came 
to  a  Friend's  house,  in  Bucks,  professing  to  be  a 


THOMAS  ELL  WOOD.  65 

brother  in  the  faith,  but,  overdoing  his  counterfeit 
Quakerism,  was  detected  and  dismissed  by  his  host. 
Betaking  himself  to  the  inn,  he  appeared  in  his  true 
character,  drank  and  swore  roundly,  and  confessed 
over  his  cups  that  he  had  been  sent  forth  on  his 
mission  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Mew,  Vice-Chancelor  of  Ox 
ford.  Findinglittle  success  in  counterfeiting  Quaker 
ism,  he  turned  to  the  Baptists,  where,  for  a  time, 
he  met  with  better  success.  Ellwood,  at  this  time, 
rendered  good  service  to  his  friends,  by  exposing  the 
true  character  of  these  wretches,  and  bringing  them 
to  justice  for  theft,  perjury,  and  other  misdemeanors. 

While  this  storm  of  persecution  lasted  (a  period 
of  two  or  three  years),  the  different  dissenting  sects 
felt,  in  some  measure,  a  common  sympathy,  and,  while 
guarding  themselves  against  their  common  foe,  had 
little  leisure  for  controversy  with  each  other ;  but  as 
was  natural,  the  abatement  of  their  mutual  suffering 
and  danger  was  the  signal  for  renewing  their  sus 
pended  quarrels.  The  Baptists  fell  upon  the  Quak 
ers,  with  pamphlet  and  sermon  ;  the  latter  replied  in 
the  same  way.  One  of  the  most  conspicuous  of  the 
Baptist  disputants  was  the  famous  Jeremy  Ives,  with 
whom  our  friend  Ellwood  seems  to  have  had  a  good 
deal  of  trouble.  ''His  name,"  says  Ellwood,  "was 
up  for  a  topping  disputant.  He  was  well  read  in  the 
fallacies  of  logic,  and  was  ready  in  framing  syllo 
gisms.  His  chief  art  lay  in  tickling  the  humor  of 
rude,  unlearned,  and  injudicious  hearers.'* 

The  following  piece  of  Ellwood's,  entitled  "An 
Epitaph  for  Jeremy  Ives,"  will  serve  to  show  that 


66  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

wit  and  drollery  were  sometimes  found  even  among 
the  proverbially  sober  Quakers  of  the  seventeenth 
century : 

Beneath  this  stone,  depressed  doth  lie 
The  mirror  of  Hypocrisy — 
Ives,  whose  mercenary  tongue 
Like  a  weathercock  was  hung, 
And  did  this  or  that  way  play, 
As  Advantage  led  the  way. 
If  well  hired,  he  would  dispute, 
Otherwise  he  would  be  mute. 
But  he'd  bawl  for  half  a  day, 
If  he  knew  and  liked  his  pay. 

For  his  person,  let  it  pass  ; 
Only  note  his  face  was  brass. 
His  heart  was  like  a  pumice  stone, 
And  for  conscience  he  had  none. 
Of  earth  and  air  he  was  composed, 
With  water  round  about  inclosed. 
Earth  in  him  had  greatest  share, 
Questionless,  his  life  lay  there  ; 
Thence  his  cankered  envy  sprung, 
Poisoning  both  his  heart  and  tongue. 

Air  made  him  frothy,  light,  and  vain, 
And  puffed  him  with  a  proud  disdain. 
Into  the  water  oft  he  went, 
And  through  the  water  many  sent, 
That  was,  ye  know,  his  element ! 
The  greatest  odds  that  did  appear 
Was  this,  for  aught  that  I  can  hear, 
That  he  in  cold  did  others  dip, 
But  did  himself  hot  water  sip. 


THOMA  S  ELL  WOOD.  67 

And  his  cause  he'd  never  doubt, 
If  well  soak'd  o'er  night  in  stout ; 
But,  meanwhile,  he  must  not  lack 
Brandy,  and  a  draught  of  sack. 
One  dispute  would  shrink  a  bottle 
Of  three  pints,  if  not  a  pottle. 
One  would  think  he  fetched  from  thence 
All  his  dreamy  eloquence. 

Let  us  now  bring  back  the  sot 
To  his  aqua  vita  pot, 
And  observe,  with  some  content, 
How  he  framed  his  argument. 
That  his  whistle  he  might  wet, 
The  bottle  to  his  mouth  he  set, 
And  being  master  of  that  art, 
Thence  he  drew  the  major  part, 
But  left  the  minor  still  behind ; 
Good  reason  why,  he  wanted  wind ; 
If  his  breath  would  have  held  out, 
He  had  conclusion  drawn,  no  doubt. 

The  residue  of  Ellwood's  life  seems  to  have  glided 
on  in  serenity  and  peace.  He  wrote,  at  intervals, 
many  pamphlets  in  defense  of  his  society,  and 
in  favor  of  liberty  of  conscience.  At  his  hospi 
table  residence,  the  leading  spirits  of  the  sect  were 
warmly  welcomed.  George  Fox  and  William  Penn 
seem  to  have  been  frequent  guests.  We  find  that, 
in  1683,  he  was  arrested  for  seditious  publications, 
when  on  the  eve  of  hastening  to  his  early  friend, 
Gulielma,  who,  in  the  absence  of  her  husband,  Gover 
nor  Penn,  had  fallen  dangerously  ill.  On  coming 
before  the  judge,  "  I  told  him,"  says  Ellwood,  "  that 
I  had  that  morning  received  an  express  out  of  Sus- 


68  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

sex,  that  William  Penn's  wife  (with  whom  I  had 
an  intimate  acquaintance  and  strict  friendship,  cA 
ipsis  fere  incunabilis,  at  least,  a  teneris  unguiculi^ 
lay  now  ill,  not  without  great  danger,  and  that  she 
had  expressed  her  desire  that  I  would  come  to  her 
as  soon  as  I  could."  The  judge  said, "  He  was  very- 
sorry  for  Madam  Penn's  illness,"  of  whose  virtues 
he  spoke  very  highly,  but  not  more  than  was  her 
due.  Then  he  told  me,  "that  for  her  sake  he  would 
do  what  he  could  to  further  my  visit  to  her."  Es 
caping  from  the  hands  of  the  law,  he  visited  his 
friend,  who  was  by  this  time  in  a  way  of  recovery, 
and,  on  his  return,  learned  that  the  prosecution  had 
been  abandoned. 

At  about  this  date  his  narrative  ceases.  We 
learn,  from  other  sources,  that  he  continued  to  write 
and  print  in  defense  of  his  religious  views  up  to  the 
year  of  his  death,  which  took  place  in  1713.  One 
of  his  productions,  a  poetical  version  of  the  life  of 
David,  may  be  still  met  with,  in  the  old  Quaker  libra 
ries.  On  the  score  of  poetical  merit,  it  is  about  oft 
a  level  with  Michael  Drayton's  verses  on  the  same 
subject.  As  the  history  of  one  of  the  firm  con 
fessors  of  the  old  struggle  for  religious  freedom,  of 
a  genial-hearted  and  pleasant  scholar,  the  friend  of 
Penn  and  Milton,  and  the  suggester  of  Paradise  Re 
gained,  we  trust  our  hurried  sketch  has  not  been  al 
together  without  interest;  and  that,  whatever  may 
be  the  religious  views  of  our  readers,  they  have  not 
failed  to  recognize  a  good  and  true  man  in  Thomas 
Ellwood. 


JAMES   NAYLER. 


You  will  here  read  the  true  story  of  that  much  injured,  ridiculed 
man,  James  Nayler  ;  what  dreadful  sufferings,  with  what  patience  he 
endured,  even  to  the  boring  of  the  tongue  with  hot  irons,  without  a 
murmur  ;  and  with  what  strength  of  mind,  when  the  delusion  he  had 
fallen  into,  which  they  stigmatized  as  blasphemy,  had  given  place  to 
clearer  thoughts,  he  could  renounce  his  error  in  a  strain  of  the  beauti- 
fullest  humility. — Essays  of  Elia. 

"WOULD  that  Carlyle  could  now  try  his  hand  at 
the  English  revolution!"  was  our  exclamation,  on 
laying  down  the  last  volume  of  his  remarkable 
"  History  of  the  French  Revolution,"  with  its  bril 
liant  and  startling  word-pictures  still  flashing  before 
us.  To  some  extent  this  wish  has  been  realized  in 
the  "  Letters  and  Speeches  of  Oliver  Cromwell." 
Yet  we  confess  that  the  perusal  of  these  volumes 
has  disappointed  us.  Instead  of  giving  himself  free 
scope,  as  in  his  French  Revolution,  and  transferring 
to  his  canvas  all  the  wild  and  ludicrous,  the  terri 
ble  and  beautiful  phases  of  that  moral  phenomenon, 
he  has  here  concentrated  all  his  artistic  skill  upon 
a  single  figure,  whom  he  seems  to  have  regarded 
as  the  embodiment  and  hero  of  the  great  event. 
All  else  on  his  canvas  is  subordinated  to  the  grim 
image  of  the  colossal  Puritan.  Intent  upon  present 
ing  him  as  the  fitting  object  of  that"  Hero-worship/' 

69 


7°  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

which,  in  its  blind  admiration  and  adoration  of  mere 
abstract  Power,  seems  to  us  at  times  nothing  less 
than  Devil-worship,  he  dwarfs,  casts  into  the  shadow, 
nay,  in  some  instances,  caricatures  and  distorts  the 
figures  which  surround  him.  To  excuse  Cromwell 
in  his  usurpation,  Henry  Vane,  one  of  those  ex 
alted  and  noble  characters,  upon  whose  features 
the  lights  held  by  historical  friends  or  foes  detect 
no  blemish,  is  dismissed  with  a  sneer,  and  an  utterly 
unfounded  imputation  of  dishonesty.  To  reconcile, 
in  some  degree,  the  discrepancy  between  the  decla 
rations  of  Cromwell  in  behalf  of  freedom  of  con 
science,  and  that  mean  and  cruel  persecution  which 
the  Quakers  suffered  under  the  Protectorate,  the 
generally  harmless  fanaticism  of  a  few  individuals, 
bearing  that  name,  is  gravely  urged.  Nay,  the  fact 
that  some  weak-brained  enthusiasts  undertook  to 
bring  about  the  Millennium,  by  associating  together, 
cultivating  the  earth,  and  "dibbling  beans"  for  the 
New-Jerusalem  market,  is  regarded  by  our  author 
as  the  "  germ  of  Quakerism  "  ;  and  furnishes  an  occa 
sion  for  sneering  at  "  my  poor  friend  Dry-as-dust, 
lamentably  tearing  his  hair  over  the  intolerance  of 
that  old  time  to  Quakerism  and  such  like." 

The  readers  of  this  (with  all  its  faults)  powerfully 
written  Biography  cannot  fail  to  have  been  im 
pressed  with  the  intensely  graphic  description  (Part 
I,  vol.  ii,  pages  184,  185)  of  the  entry  of  the  poor 
fanatic,  James  Nayler,  and  his  forlorn  and  draggled 
companions  into  Bristol.  Sadly  ludicrous  is  it; 
affecting  us  like  the  actual  sight  of  tragic  insanity 


JAMES  NAYLER.  71 

Enacting  its  involuntary  comedy,  and  making  us 
smile  through  our  tears. 

In  another  portion  of  the  work,  a  brief  account 
is  given  of  the  trial  and  sentence  of  Nayler,  also  in 
the  serio-comic  view ;  and  the  poor  man  is  dismissed 
with  the  simple  intimation,  that  after  his  punish 
ment,  he  "  repented,  and  confessed  himself  mad." 
It  was  no  part  of  the  author's  business,  we  are  well 
aware,  to  waste  time  and  words  upon  the  history  of 
such  a  man  as  Nayler ;  he  was  of  no  importance  to 
him,  otherwise  than  as  one  of  the  disturbing  in 
fluences  in  the  government  of  the  Lord  Protector. 
But  in  our  mind  the  story  of  James  Nayler  has 
always  been  one  of  interest ;  and  in  the  belief  that 
it  will  prove  so  to  others,  who,  like  Charles  Lamb, 
can  appreciate  the  beautiful  humility  of  a  forgiving 
spirit,  we  have  taken  some  pains  to  collect  and  em 
body  the  facts  of  it. 

James  Nayler  was  born  in  the  parish  of  Ardesley, 
in  Yorkshire,  1616.  His  father  was  a  substantial 
farmer,  of  good  repute  and  competent  estate ;  and 
he,  in  consequence,  received  a  good  education.  At 
the  age  of  twenty-two  he  married  and  removed  to 
Wakefield  parish,  which  has  since  been  made  classic 
ground  by  the  pen  of  Goldsmith.  Here,  an  honest, 
God-fearing  farmer,  he  tilled  his  soil,  and  alternated 
between  cattle-markets  and  Independent  conventi 
cles.  In  1641  he  obeyed  the  summons  of  "  my 
Lord  Fairfax"  and  the  Parliament,  and  joined  a 
troop  of  horse  composed  of  sturdy  Independents, 
doing  such  signal  service  against  "  the  man  of  Belial, 


72  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Charles  Stuart,"  that  he  was  promoted  to  the  rank 
of  quartermaster,  in  which  capacity  he  served  under 
General  Lambert,  in  his  Scottish  campaign.  Dis 
abled  at  length  by  sickness,  he  was  honorably  dis 
missed  from  the  service,  and  returned  to  his  family 
in  1649. 

For  three  or  four  years  he  continued  to  attend 
the  meetings  of  the  Independents  as  a  zealous  and 
devout  member.  But  it  so  fell  out  that,  in  the 
winter  of  1651,  George  Fox,  who  had  just  been 
released  from  a  cruel  imprisonment  in  Derby 
jail,  felt  a  call  to  set  his  face  toward  Yorkshire. 
"So  traveling,"  says  Fox  in  his  journal,  "through 
the  countries,  to  several  places,  preaching  Repent 
ance  and  the  Word  of  Life,  I  came  into  the  parts 
about  Wakefield  where  James  Nayler  lived."  The 
worn  and  weary  soldier,  covered  with  the  scars  of 
outward  battle,  received,  as  he  believed,  in  the 
cause  of  God  and  his  people,  against  Antichrist  and 
oppression,  welcomed  with  thankfulness  the  veteran 
of  another  warfare,  who,  in  conflict  with  "principal- 
ities  and  powers,  and  spiritual  wickedness  in  high 
places,"  had  made  his  name  a  familiar  one  in  every 
English  hamlet.  "  He  and  Thomas  Goodyear," 
says  Fox,  "came  to  me,  and  were  both  convinced, 
and  received  the  truth."  He  soon  after  joined  the 
Society  of  Friends.  In  the  spring  of  the  next  year 
he  was  in  his  field  following  his  plow,  and  medi 
tating,  as  he  was  wont,  on  the  great  questions  of 
life  and  duty,  when  he  seemed  to  hear  a  voice  bid 
ding  him  go  out  from  his  kindred  and  his  father's 


JAMES  NAYLER.  7$ 

house,  with  an  assurance  that  the  Lord  would  be 
with  him  while  laboring  in  his  service.  Deeply  im 
pressed,  he  left  his  employment,  and,  returning  to 
his  house,  made  immediate  preparations  for  a  jour 
ney.  But  hesitation  and  doubt  followed  ;  he  be 
came  sick  from  anxiety  of  mind,  and  his  recovery, 
for  a  time,  was  exceedingly  doubtful.  On  his  res 
toration  to  bodily  health,  he  obeyed  what  he  re 
garded  as  a  clear  intimation  of  duty,  and  went  forth 
a  preacher  of  the  doctrines  he  had  embraced.  The 
Independent  minister  of  the  society  to  which  he 
had  formerly  belonged  sent  after  him  the  story  that 
he  was  the  victim  of  sorcery ;  that  George  Fox 
carried  with  him  a  bottle,  out  of  which  he  made 
people  drink  ;  and  that  the  draught  had  the  power 
to  change  a  Presbyterian  or  Independent  into  a 
Quaker  at  once ;  that,  in  short,  the  Arch-Quaker, 
Fox,  was  a  wizard,  and  could  be  seen  at  the  same 
moment  of  time,  riding  on  the  same  black  horse,  in 
two  places  widely  separated!  He  had  scarcely 
commenced  his  exhortations,  before  the  mob,  ex 
cited  by  such  stories,  assailed  him.  In  the  early 
summer  of  the  year  we  hear  of  him  in  Appleby  jail. 
On  his  release,  he  fell  in  company  with  George  Fox. 
At  Walney  Island  he  was  furiously  assaulted  and 
beaten  with  clubs  and  stones,  the  poor  priest-led 
fishermen  being  fully  persuaded  that  they  were  deal 
ing  with  a  wizard.  The  spirit  of  the  man,  under 
these  circumstances,  may  be  seen  in  the  following 
extract  from  a  letter  to  his  friends,  dated  at  "  Killet, 
in  Lancashire,  the  3Oth  of  8th  Month,  1652." 


74  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

"  Dear  friends  !  Dwell  in  patience,  and  wait  upon 
the  Lord,  who  will  do  his  own  work.  Look  not  at 
man  who  is  in  the  work,  nor  at  any  man  opposing  it; 
but  rest  in  the  will  of  the  Lord,  that  so  ye  may  be 
furnished  with  patience,  both  to  do  and  to  suffer 
what  ye  shall  be  called  unto,  that  your  end  in  all 
things  may  be  His  praise.  Meet  often  together  ; 
take  heed  of  ^hat  exalteth  itself  above  its  brother; 
but  keep  low,  and  serve  one  another  in  love." 

Laboring  thus,  interrupted  only  by  persecution, 
stripes,  and  imprisonment,  he  finally  came  to  Lon 
don,  and  spoke  with  great  power  and  eloquence  in 
the  meetings  of  Friends  in  that  city.  Here  he  for 
the  first  time  found  himself  surrounded  by  admir 
ing  and  sympathizing  friends.  He  saw  and  re 
joiced  in  the  fruits  of  his  ministry.  Profane  and 
drunken  cavaliers,  intolerant  Presbyters,  and  blind 
Papists  owned  the  truths  which  he  uttered,  and 
counted  themselves  his  disciples.  Women,  too,  in 
their  deep  trustfulness,  and  admiring  reverence,  sat 
at  the  feet  of  the  eloquent  stranger.  Devout  be- 
licvers  in  the  doctrine  of  the  inward  light  and  mani 
festation  of  God  in  the  heart  of  man,  these  latter,  at 
length,  thought  they  saw  such  unmistakable  evidences 
of  the  true  life  in  James  Nayler,  that  they  felt  con 
strained  to  declare  that  Christ  was.  in  an  especial 
manner,  within  him,  and  to  call  upon  all  to  recog 
nize  in  reverent  adoration  this  new  incarnation  of 
the  divine  and  heavenly.  The  wild  enthusiasm  of 
his  disciples  had  its  effect  on  the  teacher.  Weak  in 
fcody,  worn  with  sickness,  fasting,  stripes,  and  prison 


JAMES  NAYLER.  75 

penance,  and  naturally  credulous  and  imaginative,  is 
it  strange  that  in  some  measure  he  yielded  to  this 
miserable  delusion  ?  Let  those  who  would  harshly 
judge  him,  or  ascribe  his  fall  to  the  peculiar  doc 
trines  of  his  sect,  think  of  Luther,  engaged  in  per 
sonal  combat  with  the  devil,  or  conversing  with  him 
on  points  of  theology  in  his  bedchamber;  or  of 
Bunyan  at  actual  fisticuffs  with  the  adversary ;  or  of 
Fleetwood  and  Vane  and  Harrison  millennium-mad, 
and  making  preparations  for  an  earthly  reign  of 
King  Jesus.  It  was  an  age  of  intense  religious  ex 
citement.  Fanaticism  had  become  epidemic. 
Cromwell  swayed  his  parliaments  by  "revelations  " 
and  Scripture  phrases  in  the  painted  chamber; 
stout  generals  and  sea-captains  exterminated  the 
Irish,  and  swept  Dutch  navies  from  the  ocean,  with 
old  Jewish  war-cries,  and  hymns  of  Deborah  and 
Miriam  ;  country  justices  charged  juries  in  Hebra 
isms,  and  cited  tj|e  laws  of  Palestine  oftener  than 
those  of  England.  Poor  Nayler  found  himself  in 
the  very  midst  of  this  seething  and  confused  moral 
maelstrom.  He  struggled  against  it  for  a  time,  but 
human  nature  was  weak;  he  became,  to  use  his  own 
words,  "  bewildered  and  darkened,"  and  the  floods 
went  over  him. 

Leaving  London  with  some  of  his  more  zealous 
followers,  not  without  solemn  admonition  and  re 
buke  from  Francis  Howgill  and  Edward  Burrough, 
who  at  that  period  were  regarded  as  the  most  emi 
nent  and  gifted  of  the  Society's  ministers,  he  bent 
his  steps  toward  Exeter.  Here,  in  consequence  of 


7  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

the  extravagance  of  his  language  and  that  of  his  dis 
ciples,  he  was  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison. 
Several  infatuated  women  surrounded  the  jail, 
declaring  that  "  Christ  was  in  prison,"  and  on  being 
admitted  to  see  him  knelt  down  and  kissed  his  feet, 
exclaiming,  "  Thy  name  shall  be  no  more  called 
James  Nayler,  but  Jesus!"  Let  us  pity  him  and 
them.  They,  full  of  grateful  and  extravagant  affec 
tion  for  the  man  whose  voice  had  called  them  away 
from  worldly  vanities  to  what  they  regarded  as 
eternal  realities,  whose  hand  they  imagined  had  for 
them  swung  back  the  pearl  gates  of  the  celestial 
city,  and  flooded  their  atmosphere  with  light  from 
heaven  ;  he,  receiving  their  homage  (not  as  offered 
to  a  poor,  weak,  sinful  Yorkshire  trooper,  but  rather 
to  the  hidden  man  of  the  heart,  the  "  Christ  within  " 
him)  with  that  self-deceiving  humility  which  is  but 
another  name  for  spiritual  pride.  Mournful,  yet 
natural  ;  such  as  is  still  in  greater  or  less  degree 
manifested  between  the  Catholic  enthusiast  and  her 
confessor ;  such  as  the  careful  observer  may  at 
times  take  note  of  in  our  Protestant  revivals  and 
camp  meetings. 

How  Nayler  was  released  from  Exeter  jail  does 
not  appear,  but  the  next  we  hear  of  him  is  at  Bris 
tol,  in  the  fall  of  the  year.  His  entrance  into  that 
city  shows  the  progress  which  he  and  his  followers 
had  made  in  the  interval.  Let  us  look  at  Carlyle's 
description  of  it.  "  A  procession  of  eight  persons — 
one,  a  man  on  horseback,  riding  single  ;  the  others, 
men  and  women,  partly  riding  double,  partly  on 


JAMES  NA  YLER.  77 

foot,  in  the  muddiest  highway  in  the  wettest 
-weather ;  singing,  all  but  the  single  rider,  at  whose 
bridle  walk  and  splash  two  women,  '  Hosannah ! 
Holy,  holy !  Lord  God  of  Sabaoth,'  and  other 
things,  '  in  a  buzzing  tone,'  which  the  impartial 
hearer  could  not  make  out.  The  single  rider  is  a 
raw-boned  male  figure,  '  with  lank  hair  reaching  be 
low  his  cheeks,'  hat  drawn  close  over  his  brows, 
'  nose  rising  slightly  in  the  middle,'  of  abstruse 
4  down  look/  and  large  dangerous  jaws  strictly 
closed  ;  he  sings  not,  sits  there  covered,  and  is  sung 
to  by  the  others  bare.  Amid  pouring  deluges  and 
mud  knee-deep,  '  so  that  the  rain  ran  in  at  their 
necks  and  vented  it  at  their  hose  and  breeches ';  a 
spectacle  to  the  west  of  England  and  posterity ! 
singing  as  above  ;  answering  no  question  except  in 
song.  From  Bedminster  to  Ratcliffgate,  along  the 
streets  to  the  High  Cross  of  Bristol ;  at  the  High 
Cross  they  are  laid  hold  of  by  the  authorities  ;  turn 
out  to  be  James  Nayler  and  Company." 

Truly,  a  more  pitiful  example  of  "  hero-worship," 
is  not  well  to  be  conceived  of.  Instead  of  taking 
the  rational  view  of  it,  however,  and  mercifully 
shutting  up  the  actors  in  a  mad-house,  the  authori 
ties  of  that  day,  conceiving  it  to  be  a  stupendous 
blasphemy,  and  themselves  God's  avengers  in  the 
matter,  sent  Nayler,  under  strong  guard,  up  to  Lon 
don,  to  be  examined  before  the  Parliament.  After 
long  and  tedious  examinations  and  cross-question 
ings,  and  still  more  tedious  debates,  some  portion  of 
which,  not  uninstructive  to  the  reader,  may  still  be 


7  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

found  in  "  Burton's  Diary,"  the  following   horrible 
resolution  was  agreed  upon  : 

That  James  Nayler  be  set  in  the  pillory,  with  his  head  in  the 
pillory  in  the  Palace  Yard,  Westminster,  during  the  space  of 
two  hours  on  Thursday  next ;  and  be  whipped  by  the  hangman 
through  the  streets  from  Westminster  to  the  Old  Exchange, 
and  there,  likewise,  be  set  in  the  pillory,  with  his  head  in  the 
pillory  for  the  space  of  two  hours,  between  eleven  and  on«,  on 
Saturday  next,  in  each  place  wearing  a  paper  containing  a  de 
scription  pf  his  crimes;  and  that  at  the  Old  Exchange  his 
tongue  be  bored  through  with  a  hot  iron,  and  that  he  be  there 
stigmatized  on  the  forehead  with  the  letter  "  B  ",  and  that  he 
be  afterward  sent  to  Bristol,  to  be  conveyed  into  and  through 
the  said  city  on  horseback  with  his  face  backward,  and  there, 
also,  publicly  whipped  the  next  market  day  after  he  comes 
thither ;  that  from  thence  he  be  committed  to  prison  in  Bride 
well,  London,  and  there  restrained  from  the  society  of  all  people, 
and  there  to  labor  hard  until  he  shall  be  released  by  Parlia 
ment  ;  and  during  that  time  be  debarred  the  use  of  pen,  ink,  and 
paper;  and  have  no  relief  except  what  he  earns  by  his  daily 
labor. 

Such,  neither  more  nor  less,  was,  in  the  opinion  of 
Parliament,  required  on  their  part  to  appease  the 
Divine  vengeance.  The  sentence  was  pronounced 
on  the  i/th  of  the  Twelfth  Month  ;  the  entire  time 
of  the  Parliament  for  the  two  months  previous  having 
been  occupied  with  the  case.  The  Presbyterians 
in  that  body  were  ready  enough  to  make  the  most 
of  an  offense  committed  by  one  who  had  been 
an  Independent ;  the  Independents,  to  escape  the 
stigma  of  extenuating  the  crimes  of  one  of  their 
quondam  brethren,  vied  with  their  antagonists  in 


JAMES  NA  YLER.  79 

shrieking  over  the  atrocity  of  Nayler's  blasphemy, 
and  in  urging  its  severe  punishment.  Here  and 
there,  among  both  classes,  were  men  disposed  to 
leniency  ;  and  more  than  one  earnest  plea  was  made 
for  merciful  dealing  with  a  man  whose  reason  was 
evidently  unsettled,  and  who  was,  therefore,  a  fitting 
object  of  compassion  ;  whose  crime,  if  it  could  in 
deed  be  called  one,  was  evidently  the  result  of  a 
clouded  intellect,  and  not  of  willful  intention  of 
evil.  On  the  other  hand,  many  were  in  favor  of 
putting  him  to  death  as  a  sort  of  peace-offering  to 
the  clergy,  who,  as  a  matter  of  course,  were  greatly 
scandalized  by  Nayler's  blasphemy,  and  still  more 
by  the  refusal  of  his  sect  to  pay  tithes,  or  recognize 
their  divine  commission. 

Nayler  was  called  into  the  Parliament  House  to 
receive  his  sentence.  "  I  do  not  know  mine  offense,'* 
he  said  mildly.  "  You  shall  know  it,"  said  Sir 
Thomas  Widrington,  "  by  your  sentence."  When 
the  sentence  was  read,  he  attempted  to  speak,  but 
was  silenced.  "  I  pray  God,"  said  Nayler,  "  that  he 
may  not  lay  this  to  your  charge," 

The  next  day,  the  i8th  of  the  Twelfth  Month,  he 
stood  in  the  pillory  two  hours,  in  the  chill  winter 
air,  and  was  then  stripped  and  scourged  by  the 
hangman,  at  the  tail  of  a  cart,  through  the  streets. 
Three  hundred  and  ten  stripes  were  inflicted  ;  his 
back  and  arms  were  horribly  cut  and  mangled,  and 
his  feet  crushed  and  bruised  by  the  feet  of  horses 
treading  on  him  in  the  crowd.  He  bore  all  with 
uncomplaining  patience;  but  was  so  far  exhausted 


So  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

by  his  sufferings,  that  it  was  found  necessary  t« 
postpone  the  execution  of  the  residue  of  the  sen 
tence  for  one  week.  The  terrible  severity  of  his 
sentence,  and  his  meek  endurance  of  it,  had,  in  the 
mean  time,  powerfully  affected  many  of  the  humane 
and  generous  of  all  classes  in  the  city  ;  and  a  petition 
for  the  remission  of  the  remaining  part  of  the  penalty 
was  numerously  signed  and  presented  to  Parliament. 
A  debate  ensued  upon  it,  but  its  prayer  was  reject 
ed.  Application  was  then  made  to  Cromwell,  who 
addressed  a  letter  to  the  speaker  of  the  house,  in 
quiring  into  the  affair,  protesting  an  "  abhorrence 
and  detestation  of  giving  or  occasioning  the  least 
countenance  to  such  opinions  and  practices "  as 
were  imputed  to  Nayler ;  "yet,  we  being  intrusted 
in  the  present  government  on  behalf  of  the  people 
of  these  nations,  and  not  knowing  how  far  such 
proceeding,  entered  into  wholly  without  us,  may  ex 
tend  in  the  consequence  of  it,  do  hereby  desire  the 
house  may  let  us  know  the  grounds  and  reasons 
whereon  they  have  proceeded."  From  this,  it  is 
not  unlikely  that  the  Protector  might  have  been 
disposed  to  clemency,  and  to  look  with  a  degree  of 
charity  upon  the  weakness  and  errors  of  one  of  his 
old  and  tried  soldiers  who  had  striven  like  a  brave 
man,  as  he  was,  for  the  rights  and  liberties  of  Eng 
lishmen  ;  but  the  clergy  here  interposed,  and  vehe 
mently,  in  the  name  of  God  and  His  Church,  de 
manded  that  the  executioner  should  finish  his  work. 
Five  of  the  most  eminent  of  them,  names  well  know* 
in  the  Protectorate,  Caryl,  Manton,  Nye,  Griffith, 


JAMES  NAYLER.  *I 

and  Reynolds,  were  deputed  by  Parliament  to  visit 
the  mangled  prisoner.  A  reasonable  request  was 
made,  that  some  impartial  person  might  be  present, 
that  justice  might  be  done  Nayler  in  the  report  of 
his  answers.  This  was  refused.  It  was,  however, 
agreed  that  the  conversation  should  be  written  down 
and  a  copy  of  it  left  with  the  jailer.  He  was 
asked  if  he  was  sorry  for  his  blasphemies.  He  said 
he  did  not  know  to  what  blasphemies  they  alluded  ; 
that  he  did  believe  in  Jesus  Christ ;  that  He  had 
taken  up  His  dwelling  in  his  own  heart,  and  for 
the  testimony  of  Him  he  now  suffered.  "  I  believe," 
said  one  of  the  ministers,  "  in  a  Christ  who  was  never 
in  any  man's  heart."  "  I  know  no  such  Christ,"  re 
joined  the  prisoner  ;  "  the  Christ  I  witness  to,  fills 
Heaven  and  Earth,  and  dwells  in  the  hearts  of  all 
true  believers."  On  being  asked  why  he  allowed 
the  women  to  adore  and  worship  him,  he  said,  he 
"denied  bowing  to  the  creature;  but  if  they  be 
held  the  power  of  Christ,  wherever  it  was,  and 
bowed  to  it,  he  could  not  resist  it,  or  say  aught 
against  it." 

After  some  further  parley,  the  reverend  visitors 
grew  angry,  threw  the  written  record  of  the  con 
versation  in  the  fire,  and  left  the  prison  to  report 
th^  prisoner  incorrigible. 

On  the  27th  of  the  month,  he  was  again  led  out 
of  ms  cell  and  placed  upon  the  pillory.  Thousands 
of  citizens  were  gathered  around,  many  of  them 
earnestly  protesting  against  the  extreme  cruelty  of 
his  punishment.  Robert  Rich,  an  influential  and 


2  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

honorable  merchant,  followed  him  up  to  the  pillory, 
•with  expressions  of  great  sympathy,  and  held  him 
by  the  hand  while  the  red-hot  iron  was  pressed 
through  his  tongue  and  the  brand  was  placed  on 
his  forehead.  He  was  next  sent  to  Bristol,  and 
publicly  whipped  through  the  principal  streets  of 
that  city ;  and  again  brought  back  to  the  Bridewell 
prison,  where  he  remained  about  two  years,  shut 
out  from  all  intercourse  with  his  fellow-beings.  At 
the  expiration  of  this  period,  he  was  released  by  order 
of  Parliament.  In  the  solitude  of  his  cell,  he  said 
the  angel  of  patience  had  been  with  him.  Through 
the  cloud  which  had  so  long  rested  over  him,  the  clear 
light  of  truth  shone  in  upon  his  spirit ;  the  weltering 
chaos  of  a  disordered  intellect  settled  into  the  calm 
peace  of  a  reconciliation  with  God  and  man.  His 
first  act  on  leaving  prison  was  to  visit  Bristol,  the 
scene  of  his  melancholy  fall.  There  he  publicly 
confessed  his  errors,  in  the  eloquent  earnestness  of 
a  contrite  spirit,  humbled  in  view  of  the  past,  yet 
full  of  thanksgiving  and  praise  for  the  great  boon  of 
forgiveness.  A  writer  who  was  present  says,  the 
"  assembly  was  tendered,  and  broken  into  tears ; 
there  were  few  dry  eyes,  and  many  were  bowed  in 
their  minds." 

In  a  paper,  which  he  published  soon  after,  he 
acknowledges  his  lamentable  delusion.  "  Con 
demned  for  ever,"  he  said,  !<  be  all  those  false 
worships  with  which  any  have  idolized  my  person  in 
that  Night  of  my  Temptation,  when  the  Power  of 
Darkness  was  above  me;  all  that  did  in  any  way 


JAMES  NAYLER.  83 

tend  to  dishonor  the  Lord,  or  draw  the  minds  of 
any  from  the  measure  of  Christ  Jesus  in  themselves, 
to  look  at  flesh,  which  is  as  grass  ;  or  to  ascribe  that 
to  the  visible  which  belongs  to  Him."  "  Darkness 
came  over  me  through  want  of  watchfulness  and 
obedience  to  the  pure  Eye  of  God.  I  was  taken 
captive  from  the  true  light ;  I  was  walking  in  the 
night,  as  a  wandering  bird  fit  for  a  prey.  And  if 
the  Lord  of  all  my  mercies  had  not  rescued  me,  I 
had  perished  ;  for  I  was  as  one  appointed  to  death 
and  destruction,  and  there  was  none  to  deliver  me." 
"  It  is  in  my  heart  to  confess  to  God,  and  before 
men,  my  folly  and  offense  in  that  day;  yet  there 
were  many  things  formed  against  me  in  that  day,  to 
take  away  my  life,  and  bring  scandal  upon  the  truth, 
of  which  I  was  not  guilty  at  all."  "  The  provocation 
of  that  Time  of  Temptation  was  exceeding  great 
against  the  Lord ;  yet  He  left  me  not ;  for  when 
Darkness  was  above,  and  the  Adversary  so  prevailed, 
that  all  things  were  turned  and  perverted  against 
my  right  seeing,  hearing,  or  understanding  ;  only  a 
secret  hope  and  faith  I  had  in  my  God,  whom  I  had 
served,  that  He  would  bring  me  through  it,  and  to 
the  end  of  it,  and  that  I  should  again  see  the  day  of 
my  redemption  from  under  it  all  ;  this  quieted  my 
soul  in  its  greatest  tribulation."  He  concludes  his 
confession  with  these  words  :  "  He  who  hath  saved 
my  soul  from  death,  who  hath  lifted  my  feet  up 
out  of  the  pit,  even  to  Him  be  glory  forever ;  and 
let  every  troubled  soul  trust  in  Him,  for  his  mercy 
endureth  forever ! " 


*4  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Among  his  papers,  written  soon  after  his  re. 
lease,  is  a  remarkable  prayer,  or  rather  thanksgiving. 
The  limit  I  have  prescribed  to  myself  will  only 
allow  me  to  copy  an  extract : 

It  is  in  my  heart  to  praise  Thee,  O  my  God !  let  me  never 
forget  Thee,  what  Thou  hast  been  to  me  in  the  night,  by  Thy 
presence  in  my  hour  of  trial,  when  I  was  beset  in  darkness  ; 
when  I  was  cast  out  as  a  wandering  bird  ;  when  I  was  assaulted 
with  strong  temptations,  then  Thy  presence,  in  secret,  did  pre 
serve  me  ;  and  in  a  low  state  I  felt  Thee  near  me ;  when  my 
way  was  through  the  sea,  when  I  passed  under  the  mountains, 
there  wast  Thou  present  with  me  ;  when  the  weight  of  the  hills 
was  upon  me,  Thou  upheldest  me ;  Thou  didst  fight  on  my 
part  when  I  wrestled  with  death ;  when  darkness  would  have 
shut  me  up,  Thy  light  shone  about  me ;  when  my  work  was  in 
the  furnace,  and  I  passed  through  the  fire,  by  Thee  I  was  not 
consumed.  When  I  beheld  the  dreadful  visions,  and  was  among 
the  fiery  spirits,  Thy  faith  staid  me,  else  through  fear  I  had 
fallen.  I  saw  Thee,  and  believed,  so  that  the  enemy  could  not 
prevail. 

After  speaking  of  his  humiliation  and  sufferings, 
which  Divine  Mercy  had  overruled  for  his  spiritual 
good,  he  thus  concludes  : 

Thou  didst  lift  me  out  from  the  pit,  and  set  me  forth  in  the 
sight  of  my  enemies  ;  Thou  proclaimedst  liberty  to  the  captive ; 
Thou  calledst  my  acquaintances  near  me  ;  they  to  whom  I  had 
been  a  wonder  looked  upon  me  ;  and  in  Thy  love  I  obtained 
favor  with  those  who  had  deserted  me.  Then  did  gladness 
swallow  up  sorrow,  and  I  forsook  my  troubles  ;  and  I  said, 
Mow  good  is  it  that  man  be  proved  in  the  night,  that  he  may 
know  his  folly;  that  every  mouth  may  become  silent,  until 
Thou  makest  man  known  unto  himself,  and  hath  slain  the 
boaster,  and  shown  him  the  vanity  which  vexeth  Thy  spirit. 


JAMES  NA  YLER.  85 

All  honor  to  the  Quakers  of  that  day,  that  at 
the  risk  of  misrepresentation  and  calumny  they  re 
ceived  back  to  their  communion  their  greatly  erring, 
but  deeply  repentant,  brother.  His  life,  ever  after, 
was  one  of  self-denial  and  jealous  watchfulness  over 
himself — blameless  and  beautiful  in  its  humility 
and  lowly  charity. 

Thomas  Ellwood,  in  his  autobiography  for  the 
year  1659,  mentions  Nayler,  whom  he  met  in  com 
pany  with  Edward  Burrough  at  the  house  of  Mil 
ton's  friend,  Pennington.  Ellwood's  father  held  a 
discourse  with  the  two  Quakers  on  their  doctrine  of 
free  and  universal  grace.  "James  Nailer"  says 
Ellwood,  "  handled  the  subject  with  so  much  per 
spicuity  and  clear  demonstration,  that  his  reasoning 
seemed  to  be  irresistible.  As  for  Edward  Burrough, 
he  was  a  brisk  young  Man,  of  a  ready  Tongue,  and 
might  have  been  for  aught  I  then  knew  a  Scholar, 
which  made  me  less  admire  his  Way  of  Reasoning. 
But  what  dropt  from  James  Nailer  had  the  greater 
Force  upon  me,  because  he  lookt  like  a  simple 
Countryman,  having  the  appearance  of  a  Husband 
man  or  Shepherd." 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  Eighth  Month,  1660,  he 
left  London,  on  foot,  to  visit  his  wife  and  children 
in  Wakefield.  As  he  journeyed  on,  the  sense  of  a 
solemn  change  about  to  take  place  seemed  with 
him  ;  the  shadow  of  the  eternal  world  fell  over  him. 
As  he  passed  through  Huntingdon,  a  friend  who 
saw  him  describes  him  as  "  in  an  awful  and  weighty 
frame  of  mind,  as  if  he  had  been  redeemed  from 


86  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

earth,  and  a  stranger  on  it,  seeking  a  better  home 
and  inheritance."  A  few  miles  beyond  the  town  he 
was  found,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  very  ill,  and 
was  taken  to  the  house  of  a  friend,  who  lived  not 
far  distant.  He  died  shortly  after,  expressing  his 
gratitude  for  the  kindness  of  his  attendants,  and  in 
voking  blessings  upon  them.  About  two  hours  be 
fore  his  death  he  spoke  to  the  friend  at  his  bedside 
these  remarkable  words,  solemn  as  eternity,  and 
beautiful  as  the  love  which  fills  it : 

There  is  a  spirit  which  I  feel  which  delights  to  do  no  evil,  nor 
to  avenge  any  wrong  ;  but  delights  to  endure  all  things,  in  hope 
to  enjoy  its  own  in  the  end  ;  its  hope  is  to  outlive  all  wrath  and 
contention,  and  to  weary  out  all  exultation  and  cruelty,  or  what 
ever  is  of  a  nature  contrary  to  itself.  It  sees  to  the  end  of  all 
temptations ;  as  it  bears  no  evil  in  itself,  so  it  conceives  none  in 
thought  to  any  other  ;  if  it  be  betrayed,  it  bears  it,  for  its  ground 
and  spring  is  the  mercy  and  forgiveness  of  God.  Its  crown  is 
meekness  ;  its  life  is  everlasting  love  unfeigned ;  it  takes  its  king 
dom  with  entreaty,  and  not  with  contention,  and  keeps  it  by  low 
liness  of  mind.  In  God  alone  it  can  rejoice,  though  none  else 
regard  it,  or  can  own  its  life.  It  is  conceived  in  sorrow,  and 
brought  forth  with  none  to  pity  it ;  nor  doth  it  murmur  at  grief 
and  oppression.  It  never  rejoiceth  but  through  sufferings,  for 
\vith  the  world's  joy  it  is  murdered.  I  found  it  alone,  being  for 
saken.  I  have  fellowship  therein  with  them  who  lived  in  dens 
and  desolate  places  of  the  earth,  who  through  death  obtained 
resurrection  and  eternal  Holy  Life. 

So  died  James  Nayler.  He  was  buried  in  "  Thomas 
Parnell's  burying-ground,  at  King's  Rippon,"  in  a 
green  nook  of  rural  England.  Wrong  and  violence, 
and  temptation  and  sorrow  and  evil-speaking  could 


JAMES  NAYLER.  87 

reach  him  no  more.  And  in  taking  leave  of  him, 
let  us  say  with  old  Joseph  Wyeth,  where  he  touches 
upon  this  case  in  his  Anguis  Flagellatus :  "  Let  none 
insult,  but  take  heed  lest  they  also,  in  the  hour  of 
their  temptation,  do  fall  away." 


ANDREW   MARVELL. 


They  who  with  a  good  conscience  and  an  upright  heart  do  their 
civil  duties  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  in  their  several  places,  to  resist 
tyranny  and  the  violence  of  superstition  banded  both  against  them, 
will  never  seek  to  be  forgiven  that  which  may  justly  be  attributed 
to  their  immortal  praise. — Answer  to  Eikon  Basilike. 

AMONG  the  great  names  which  adorned  the  Pro 
tectorate, — that  period  of  intense  mental  activity, 
when  political  and  religious  rights  and  duties  were 
thoroughly  discussed  by  strong  and  earnest  states 
men  and  theologians, — that  of  Andrew  Marvell,  the 
friend  of  Milton,  and  Latin  Secretary  of  Cromwell, 
deserves  honorable  mention.  The  magnificent  prose 
of  Milton,  long  neglected,  is  now  perhaps  as  fre 
quently  read  as  his  great  epic  ;  but  the  writings  of 
his  friend  and  fellow  secretary,  devoted  like  his  own 
to  the  cause  of  freedom  and  the  rights  of  the  peo- 
ble,  are  scarcely  known  to  the  present  generation. 
It  is  true  that  Marvell's  political  pamphlets  were 
less  elaborate  and  profound  than  those  of  the 
author  o'f  the  glorious  Defense  of  Unlicensed  Print 
ing.  He  was  light,  playful,  witty,  and  sarcastic ; 
he  lacked  the  stern  dignity,  the  terrible  invective, 
the  bitter  scorn,  the  crushing,  annihilating  retort, 
the  grand  and  solemn  eloquence,  and  the  devout 


ANDREW  MARVELL.  89 

appeals,  which  render  immortal  the  controversial 
works  of  Milton.  But  he,  too,  has  left  his  foot 
prints  on  his  age;  he,  too,  has  written  for  posterity 
that  which  they  "will  not  willingly  let  die."  As 
one  of  the  inflexible  defenders  of  English  liberty, 
sowers  of  the  seed,  the  fruits  of  which  we  are  now 
reaping,  he  has  a  higher  claim  on  the  kind  regards 
of  this  generation  than  his  merits  as  a  poet,  by  no 
means  inconsiderable,  would  warrant. 

Andrew  Marvell  was  born  in  Kingston-upon-Hull, 
in  1620.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  he  entered  Trinity 
College,  whence  he  was  enticed  by  the  Jesuits,  then 
actively  seeking  proselytes.  After  remaining  with 
them  a  short  time,  his  father  found  him,  and  brought 
him  back  to  his  studies.  On  leaving  college,  he 
traveled  on  the  Continent.  At  Rome  he  wrote  his 
first  satire,  a  humorous  critique  upon  Richard 
Flecknoe,  an  English  Jesuit  and  verse  writer,  whose 
lines,  on  Silence,  Charles  Lamb  quotes  in  one  of  his 
Essays.  It  is  supposed  that  he  made  his  first  ac 
quaintance  with  Milton  in  Italy. 

At  Paris  he  made  the  Abbot  de  Manihan  the  sub 
ject  of  another  satire.  The  abbot  pretended  to 
skill  in  the  arts  of  magic,  and  used  to  prognosticate 
the  fortunes  of  people  from  the  character  of  their 
handwriting.  At  what  period  he  returned  from  his 
travels,  we  are  not  aware.  It  is  stated,  by  some  of 
his  biographers,  that  he  was  sent  as  secretary  of  a 
Turkish  mission.  In  1653,  he  was  appointed  the 
tutor  of  Cromwell's  nephew;  and  four  years  after, 
doubtless  through  the  instrumentality  of  his  friend 


9°  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES, 

Milton,  he  received  the  honorable  appointment  of 
Latin  Secretary  of  the  Commonwealth.  In  1658 
he  was  selected  by  his  townsmen  of  Hull  to  repre 
sent  them  in  Parliament.  In  this  service  he  con 
tinued  until  1663,  when,  notwithstanding  his  sturdy 
republican  principles,  he  was  appointed  secretary  to 
the  Russian  embassy.  On  his  return,  in  1665,  he 
was  again  elected  to  Parliament,  and  continued  in 
the  public  service  until  the  prorogation  of  the  Par 
liament  of  1675. 

The  boldness,  the  uncompromising  integrity,  and 
irreproachable  consistency  of  Marvell,  as  a  states 
man,  have  secured  for  him  the  honorable  appella 
tion  of  "the  British  Aristides."  Unlike  too  many 
of  his  old  associates  under  the  Protectorate,  he  did 
not  change  with  the  times.  He  was  a  republican  in 
Cromwell's  day,  and  neither  threats  of  assassina 
tion,  nor  flatteries,  nor  proffered  bribes,  could  make 
him  anything  else  in  that  of  Charles  II.  He  advo 
cated  the  rights  of  the  people,  at  a  time  when 
patriotism  was  regarded  as  ridiculous  folly;  when  a 
general  corruption,  spreading  downward  from  a 
lewd  and  abominable  court,  had  made  legislation  a 
mere  scramble  for  place  and  emolument.  English 
history  presents  no  period  so  disgraceful  as  the 
Restoration.  To  use  the  words  of  Macaulay,  it 
was  "  a  day  of  servitude  without  loyalty,  and 
sensuality  without  love  ;  of  dwarfish  talents  and 
gigantic  vices,  the  paradise  of  cold  hearts  and 
narrow  minds ;  the  golden  age  of  the  coward,  the 
bigot,  and  the  slave.  The  principles  of  liberty  were 


ANDREW  MARVELL.  91 

the  scoff  of  every  grinning  courtier,  and  the  Anath 
ema  Maranatha  of  every  fawning  dean."  It  is  the 
peculiar  merit  of  Milton  and  Marvell  that  in  such 
an  age  they  held  fast  their  integrity,  standing  up  in 
glorious  contrast  with  the  clerical  apostates  and 
traitors  to  the  cause  of  England's  liberty. 

In  the  discharge  of  his  duties  as  a  statesman,  Mar- 
veil  was  as  punctual  and  conscientious  as  our  own 
venerable  Apostle  of  Freedom,  John  Quincy  Adams. 
He  corresponded  every  post  with  his  constituents, 
keeping  them  fully  apprised  of  all  that  transpired  at 
court  or  in  Parliament.  He  spoke  but  seldom, 
but  his  great  personal  influence  was  exerted  pri 
vately  upon  the  members  of  the  Commons  as  well  as 
upon  the  Peers.  His  wit,  accomplished  manners, 
and  literary  eminence  made  him  a  favorite  at  the 
court  itself.  The  voluptuous  and  careless  monarch 
laughed  over  the  biting  satire  of  the  republican  poetr 
and  heartily  enjoyed  his  lively  conversation.  It  is 
said  that  numerous  advances  were  made  to  him  by 
the  courtiers  of  Charles  II,  but  he  was  found  to  be 
incorruptible.  The  personal  compliments  of  the 
King,  the  encomiums  of  Rochester,  the  smiles  and 
flatteries  of  the  frail  but  fair  and  high-born  ladies  of 
the  Court ;  nay,  even  the  golden  offers  of  the  King's 
treasurer,  who,  climbing  with  difficulty  to  his  ob 
scure  retreat  on  an  upper  floor  of  a  court  in  the 
Strand,  laid  a  tempting  bribe  of  ;£iooo  before  himr 
on  the  very  day  when  he  had  been  compelled  to 
borrow  a  guinea,  were  all  lost  upon  the  inflexible 
patriot.  He  stood  up  manfully,  in  an  age  of  perse^ 


9*  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

cution,  for  religious  liberty  ;  opposed  the  oppressive 
excise,  and  demanded  frequent  Parliaments  and  a  fair 
representation  of  the  people. 

In  1672,  Marvell  engaged  in  a  controversy  with 
the  famous  high  churchman,  Dr.  Parker,  who  had 
taken  the  lead  in  urging  the  persecution  of  noncon 
formists.  In  one  of  the  works  of  this  arrogant 
divine  he  says  that  "  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
peace  and  government  of  the  world,  that  the  su 
preme  magistrate  should  be  vested  with  power  to 
govern  and  conduct  the  consciences  of  subjects  in 
affairs  of  religion.  Princes  may,  with  less  hazard, 
give  liberty  to  men's  vices  and  debaucheries,  than 
to  their  consciences."  And,  speaking  of  the  various 
sects  of  nonconformists,  he  counsels  princes  and 
legislators  that  "  tenderness  and  indulgence  to  such 
men  is  to  nourish  vipers  in  their  own  bowels,  and 
the  most  sottish  neglect  of  our  quiet  and  security." 
Marvell  replied  to  him  in  a  severely  satirical  pam 
phlet,  which  provoked  a  reply  from  the  Doctor.  Mar- 
veil  rejoined  with  a  rare  combination  of  wit  and 
argument.  The  effect  of  his  sarcasm  on  the  Doctor 
and  his  supporters  may  be  inferred  from  an  anony 
mous  note  sent  him,  in  which  the  writer  threatens  by 
the  eternal  God  to  cut  his  throat,  if  he  uttered  any 
more  libels  upon  Dr.  Parker.  Bishop  Burnet  re 
marks  that  "  Marvell  writ  in  a  burlesque  strain,  but 
with  so  peculiar  and  so  entertaining  a  conduct  that 
from  the  King  down  to  the  tradesman  his  books 
were  read  with  great  pleasure,  and  not  only  humbled 
Parker,  but  his  whole  party,  for  Marvell  had  all  the 


ANDREW  MARVELL.  9$ 

wits  on  his  side."  The  Bishop  further  remarks  that 
Marvell's  satire  "gave  occasion  to  the  only  piece 
of  modesty  with  which  Dr.  Parker  was  ever  charged, 
viz.:  of  withdrawing  from  town,  and  not  importun 
ing  the  press  for  some  years,  since  even  a  face  of 
brass  must  grow  red  when  it  is  burnt  as  his  has 
been."  Dean  Swift,  in  commenting  upon  the  usual 
fate  of  controversial  pamphlets,  which  seldom  live 
beyond  their  generation,  says:  "There  is  indeed 
an  exception,  when  a  great  genius  undertakes  to 
expose  a  foolish  piece  ;  so  we  still  read  Marvell's 
answer  to  Parker  with  pleasure,  though  the  book  it 
answers  be  sunk  long  ago." 

Perhaps,  in  the  entire  compass  of  our  language, 
there  is  not  to  be  found  a  finer  piece  of  satirical 
writing  than  Marvell's  famous  parody  of  the  speeches 
of  Charles  II,  in  which  the  private  vices  and  public 
inconsistencies  of  the  King,  and  his  gross  violations 
of  his  pledges  on  coming  to  the  throne,  are  exposed 
with  the  keenest  wit  and  the  most  laugh-provoking 
irony.  Charles,  himself,  although  doubtless  annoyed 
by  it,  could  not  refrain  from  joining  in  the  mirth 
which  it  excited  at  his  expense. 

The  friendship  between  Marvell  and  Milton  re 
mained  firm  and  unbroken  to  the  last.  The  former 
exerted  himself  to  save  his  illustrious  friend  from 
persecution,  and  omitted  no  opportunity  to  defend 
him  as  a  politician  and  to  eulogize  him  as  a  poet. 
In  1654,  he  presented  to  Cromwell  Milton's  noble 
tract  in  Defense  of  the  People  of  England,  and,  in 
writing  to  the  author,  says  of  the  work,  "  When  I 


94  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

consider  how  equally  it  teems  and  rises  with  so 
many  figures,  it  seems  to  me  a  Trajan's  column,  in 
whose  winding  ascent  we  see  embossed  the  several 
monuments  of  your  learned  victories."  He  was  one 
of  the  first  to  appreciate  Paradise  Lost,  and  to  com 
mend  it  in  some  admirable  lines.  One  couplet  is 
exceedingly  beautiful,  in  its  reference  to  the  author's 
blindness : 

Just  Heaven,  thee  like  Tiresias  to  requite, 
Rewards  with  prophecy  thy  loss  of  sight. 

His  poems,  written  in  the  "  snatched  leisure  "  of 
an  active  political  life,  bear  marks  of  haste,  and  are 
very  unequal.  In  the  midst  of  passages  of  pastoral 
description  worthy  of  Milton  himself,  feeble  lines 
and  hackneyed  phrases  occur.  His  "  Nymph  lament 
ing  the  Death  of  her  Fawn  "  is  a  finished  and  elabo 
rate  piece,  full  of  grace  and  tenderness.  "  Thoughts 
in  a  Garden  "  will  be  remembered  by  the  quotations 
of  that  exquisite  critic,  Charles  Lamb.  How 
pleasant  is  this  picture  ! 

What  wondrous  life  is  this  I  lead  ! 
Ripe  apples  drop  about  my  head , 
The  luscious  clusters  of  the  vine 
Upon  my  mouth  do  crush  their  wine ; 
The  nectarine  and  curious  peach 
Into  my  hands  themselves  do  reach  ; 
Stumbling  on  melons  as  I  pass. 
Ensnared  with  flowers,  I  fall  on  grasi. 

Here  at  this  fountain's  sliding  foot, 
Or  at  the  fruit  tree^s  mossy  root, 


ANDREW  MARVELL.  95 

Casting  the  body's  vest  aside, 

My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide. 

There  like  a  bird  it  sits  and  sings, 
And  whets  and  claps  its  silver  wings ; 
And,  till  prepared  for  longer  flight, 
Waves  in  its  plumes  the  various  light. 

How  well  the  skillful  gard'ner  drew 
Of  flowers  and  herbs  this  dial  true! 
Where,  from  above,  the  milder  sun 
Does  through  a  fragrant  zodiac  run  ; 
Ami,  as  it  works,  the  industrious  bee 
Computes  his  time  as  well  as  we. 
How  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 
Be  reckoned  but  with  herbs  and  flowers  !  " 

One  of  his  longer  poems,  "  Appleton  House,"  con- 
tains  passages  of  admirable  description,  and  many 
not  unpleasing  conceits.  Witness  the  following: 

Thus  I,  an  easy  philosopher, 
Among  the  birds  and  trees  confer, 
And  little  now  to  make  me  wants, 
Or  of  the  fowl  or  of  the  plants. 
Give  me  but  wings,  as  they,  and  I 
Straight  floating  on  the  air  shall  fly  ; 
Or  turn  me  but,  and  you  shall  see 
I  am  but  an  inverted  tree. 
Already  I  begin  to  call 
In  their  most  learned  original ; 
And,  where  I  language  want,  my  signs 
„  The  bird  upon  the  bough  divines. 

No  leaf  does  tremble  in  the  wind, 
Which  I  returning  cannot  find. 
Out  of  these  scattered  Sybil's  leaves, 
Strange  prophecies  my  fancy  weaves  ; 


9*  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

What  Rome,  Greece,  Palestine,  e'er  said, 

I  in  this  light  Mosaic  read. 

Under  this  antic  cope  I  move, 

Like  some  great  prelate  of  the  grove ; 

Then,  languishing  at  ease,  I  toss 

On  pallets  thick  with  velvet  moss  ; 

While  the  wind,  cooling  through  the  boughs, 

Flatters  with  air  my  panting  brow's. 

Thanks  for  my  rest,  ye  mossy  banks  ! 

And  unto  you,  cool  zephyrs,  thanks ! 

Who,  as  my  hair,  my  thoughts  too  shed, 

And  winnow  from  the  chaff  my  head. 

How  safe,  methinks,  and  strong  behind 

These  trees  have  I  encamped  my  mind  1 

Here  is  a  picture  of  a  piscatorial  idler  and  his 
trout  stream,  worthy  of  the  pencil  of  Izaak  Walton : 

See  in  what  wanton  harmless  folds 

It  everywhere  the  meadow  holds  : 

Where  all  things  gaze  themselves,  and  doubt 

If  they  be  in  it  or  without ; 

And  for  this  shade,  which  therein  shines, 

Narcissus-like,  the  sun  too  pines. 

Oh  !  what  a  pleasure  'tis  to  hedge 

My  temples  here  in  heavy  sedge  ; 

Abandoning  my  lazy  side, 

Stretched  as  a  bank  unto  the  tide  ; 

Or,  to  suspend  my  sliding  foot 

On  the  osier's  undermining  root. 

And  in  its  branches  tough  to  hang, 

While  at  my  lines  the  fishes  twang. 

A  little  poem  of  Marvell's,  which  he  calls  "  Eye* 
and  Tears,"  has  the  following  passages : 


ANDREW  MARVELL.  97 

How  wisely  Nature  did  agree 
With  the  same  eyes  to  weep  and  see ! 
That,  having  viewed  the  object  vain, 
They  might  be  ready  to  complain. 
And,  since  the  self-deluding  sight 
In  a  false  angle  takes  each  height, 
These  tears,  which  better  measure  all, 
Like  watery  lines  and  plummets  fall. 

Happy  are  they  whom  grief  doth  bless, 
That  weep  the  more,  and  see  the  less ; 
And,  to  preserve  their  sight  more  true, 
Bathe  still  theif  eyes  in  their  own  dew ; 
So  Magdalen,  in  tears  more  wise, 
Dissolved  those  captivating  eyes, 
Whose  liquid  chains  could,  flowing,  meet 
To  fetter  her  Redeemer's  feet. 
The  sparkling  glance,  that  shoots  desire, 
Drenched  in  those  tears,  does  lose  its  fire ; 
Yea,  oft  the  Thunderer  pity  takes, 
And  there  His  hissing  lightning  slakes. 
The  incense  is  to  Heaven  dear, 
Not  as  a  perfume,  but  a  tear ; 
And  stars  shine  lovely  in  the  night, 
But  as  they  seem  the  tears  of  light. 
Ope,  then,  mine  eyes,  your  double  sluice, 
And  practice  so  your  noblest  use ; 
For  others,  too,  can  see  or  sleep, 
But  only  human  eyes  can  weep. 

The    "  Bermuda    Emigrants"    has    some   happy 
lines,  as  the  following : 

He  hangs  in  shade  the  orange  bright, 
Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night. 


98  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Or   this,  which   doubtless   suggested   a   couplet  in 
Moore's  Canadian  Boat  Song : 

And  all  the  way,  to  guide  the  chime, 
With  falling  oars  they  kept  the  time. 

His  facetious  and  burlesque  poetry  was  much  ad 
mired  in  his  day ;  but  a  great  portion  of  it  referred 
to  persons  and  events  no  longer  of  general  interest. 
The  satire  on  Holland  is  an  exception.  There  is 
nothing  in  its  way  superior  to  it  in  our  language. 
Many  of  his  best  pieces  were  originally  written  in 
Latin,  and  afterward  translated  by  himself.  There 
is  a  splendid  Ode  to  Cromwell, — a  worthy  compan 
ion  of  Milton's  glorious  sonnet, — which  is  not  gen 
erally  known,  and  which  we  transfer  entire  to  our 
pages.  Its  simple  dignity,  and  the  melodious  flow 
of  its  versification,  commend  themselves  more  to 
our  feelings  than  its  eulogy  of  war.  It  is  energetic 
and  impassioned,  and  probably  affords  a  better  idea 
of  the  author,  as  an  actor  in  the  stirring  drama  of 
his  time,  than  the  "  soft  Lydian  airs  "  of  the  poems 
that  we  have  quoted  : 

AN    HORATIAN   ODE   UPON    CROMWELL'S   RETURN 
FROM    IRELAND. 

The  forward  youth  that  would  appear 
Must  now  forsake  his  Muses  dear; 

Nor  in  the  shadows  sing 

His  numbers  languishing. 

"Tis  time  to  leave  the  books  in  dust. 
And  oil  the  unused  armor's  rust ; 


ANDREW  MARVELL.  99 

Removing  from  the  wall 
The  corslet  of  the  hall. 

So  restless  Cromwell  could  not  cease 
In  the  inglorious  arts  of  peace, 

But  through  adventurous  war 

Urged  his  active  star  ; 

And,  like  the  three-fork'd  lightning,  first 
Breaking  the  clouds  wherein  it  nurst, 

Did  thorough  his  own  side 

His  fiery  way  divide. 

For  'tis  all  one  to  courage  high, 
The  emulous,  or  enemy ; 

And  with  such  to  inclose 

Is  more  than  to  oppose. 

Then  burning  through  the  air  he  went,  I, 

And  palaces  and  temples  rent ; 

And  Caesar's  head  at  last 

Did  through  his  laurels  blast. 

&  ' 

'Tis  madness  to  resist  or  blame 
The  face  of  angry  Heaven's  flame  ; 

And,  if  we  would  speak  true, 

Much  to  the  man  is  due, 

Who,  from  his  private  gardens,  where 
He  lived  reserved  and  austere 

(As  if  his  highest  plot 

To  plant  the  bergamot), 

Could  by  industrious  valor  climb 
To  ruin  the  great  work  of  time, 

And  cast  the  kingdoms  old 

Into  another  mold  ! 


100  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Though  justice  against  fate  complain, 
And  plead  the  ancient  rights  in  vain — 
But  those  do  hold  or  break, 
As  men  are  strong  or  weak. 

Nature,  that  hateth  emptiness, 

Allows  of  penetration  less, 

And  therefore  must  make  room 
Where  greater  spirits  come. 

What  field  of  all  the  civil  war, 
Where  his  were  not  the  deepest  scar  ? 

And  Hampton  shows  what  part 

He  had  of  wiser  art ; 

Where,  twining  subtle  fears  with  hope, 
He  wove  a  net  of  such  a  scope, 
That  Charles  himself  might  chase 
To  Carisbrook's  narrow  case  : 

That  hence  the  royal  actor  borne, 

The  tragic  scaffold  might  adorn ; 

While  round  the  armed  bands 

Did  clap  their  bloody  hands. 

He  nothing  common  did  or  mean 
Upon  that  memorable  scene, 

But  with  his  keener  eye 

The  ax's  edge  did  try : 

Nor  called  the  gods,  with  vulgar  spite, 
To  vindicate  his  helpless  right  ! 

But  bowed  his  comely  head, 

Down,  as  upon  a  bed. 

This  was  that  memorable  hour, 
Which  first  assured  the  forced  power ; 

So  when  they  did  design 

The  Capitol's  first  line, 


ANDREW  MARV.ELL, 

A  bleeding  head,  where  they  begun, 
Did  fright  the  architects  to  run  ; 

And  yet  in  that  the  state 

Foresaw  its  happy  fate. 

And  now  the  Irish  are  ashamed 
To  see  themselves  in  one  year  tamed ; 
So  much  one  man  can  do, 
That  does  best  act  and  know. 

They  can  affirm  his  praises  best, 
And  have,  though  overcome,  confest 

How  good  he  is,  how  just, 

And  fit  for  highest  trust. 

Nor  yet  grown  stiffer  by  command, 
But  still  in  the  Republic's  hand, 

How  fit  he  is  to  sway 

That  can  so  well  obey. 

He  to  the  Commons'  feet  presents 
A  kingdom  for  his  first  year's  rents, 

And,  what  he  may,  forbears 

His  fame  to  make  it  theirs, 

And  has  his  sword  and  spoils  ungirt, 
To  lay  them  at  the  public's  skirt ; 

So  when  the  falcon  high 

Falls  heavy  from  the  sky, 

She,  having  killed,  no  more  does  search. 
But  on  the  next  green  bough  to  perch, 

Where,  when  he  first  does  lure, 

The  falconer  has  her  sure. 

What  may  not,  then,  our  isle  presume, 
While  Victory  his  crest  does  plume  ? 
What  may  not  others  fear, 
If  thus  he  crowns  each  year  ? 


?<»2  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

As  Caesar,  he,  ere  long,  to  Gaul ; 
To  Italy  as  Hannibal, 

And  to  all  States  not  free 

Shall  climacteric  be. 

The  Pict  no  shelter  now  shall  find 
Within  his  parti-contour'd  mind  ; 

But  from  his  valor  sad 

Shrink  underneath  the  plaid, 

Happy  if  in  the  tufted  break 
The  English  hunter  him  mistake, 

Nor  lay  his  hands  a  near 

The  Caledonian  deer.  , 

But  thou,  the  war's  and  fortune's  son, 
March  indefatigably  on  ; 

And,  for  the  last  effect, 

Still  keep  the  sword  erect. 

Besides  the  force,  it  has  to  fright 
The  spirits  of  the  shady  night  : 

The  same  arts  that  did  gain 

A  power,  must  it  maintain. 

Marvell  was  never  married.  The  modern  critic, 
who  affirms  that  bachelors  have  done  the  most  to 
exalt  woman  into  a  divinity,  might  have  quoted  his 
extravagant  panegyric  of  Maria  Fairfax  as  an  apt 
illustration  : 

'Tis  she  that  to  these  gardens  gave 
The  wondrous  beauty  which  they  have ; 
She  straitness  on  the  woods  bestows, 
To  her  the  meadow  sweetness  owes, 
Nothing  could  make  the  river  be 
So  crystal  pure  but  only  she — 


ANDREW  MARVELL.  IO£ 

She,  yet  more  pure,  sweet,  strait,  and  fair, 
Than  gardens,  woods,  meads,  rivers  are  ! 
Therefore,  what  first  she  on  them  spent 
They  gratefully  again  present 
The  meadow  carpets  where  to  tread, 
The  garden  flowers  to  crown  her  head  ; 
And  for  a  glass  the  limpid  brook, 
Where  she  may  all  her  beauties  look ; 
But,  since  she  would  not  have  them  seen. 
The  wood  about  her  draws  a  screen  ; 
For  she,  to  higher  beauty  raised, 
Disdains  to  be  for  lesser  praised  ; 
She  counts  her  beauty  to  converse 
In  all  the  languages  as  hers, 
Nor  yet  in  those  herself  employs. 
But  for  the  wisdom,  not  the  noise  ; 
Nor  yet  that  wisdom  could  affect, 
But  as  'tis  Heaven's  dialect. 

It  has  been  the  fashion  of  a  class  of  shallow  Church 
and  State  defenders  to  ridicule  the  great  men  of 
the  Commonwealth,  the  sturdy  republicans  of  Eng 
land,  as  sour-featured,  hard-hearted  ascetics,  enemies 
of  the  fine  arts  and  polite  literature.  The  works  of 
Milton  and  Marvell,  the  prose  poem  of  Harrington, 
and  the  admirable  discourses  of  Algernon  Sydney, 
are  a  sufficient  answer  to  this  accusation.  To  none 
has  it  less  application  than  to  the  subject  of  our 
sketch.  He  was  a  genial,  warm-hearted  man,  an 
elegant  scholar,  a  finished  gentleman  at  home,  and 
the  life  of  every  circle  which  he  entered,  whether 
that  of  the  gay  court  of  Charles  II,  amid  such  men 
as  Rochester  and  L'Estrange,  or  that  of  the  re 
publican  philosophers  who  assembled  at  Miles's 


104  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Coffee  House,  where  he  discussed  plans  of  a  free 
representative  government  with  the  author  of 
"  Oceana,"  and  Cyriack  Skinner,  that  friend  of  Mil 
ton,  whom  the  bard  has  immortalized  in  the  sonnet 
which  so  pathetically,  yet  heroically,  alludes  to  his 
own  blindness.  Men  of  all  parties  enjoyed  his  wit 
and  graceful  conversation.  His  personal  appearance 
was  altogether  in  his  favor.  A  clear,  dark,  Spanish 
complexion  ;  long  hair  of  jetty  blackness,  falling  in 
graceful  wreaths  to  his  shoulders  ;  dark  eyes,  full  of 
expression  and  fire ;  a  finely  chiseled  chin,  and  a 
mouth  whose  soft  voluptuousness  scarcely  gave 
token  of  the  steady  purpose  and  firm  will  of  the  in 
flexible  statesman  ;  these,  added  to  the  prestige  of 
his  genius,  and  the  respect  which  a  lofty,  self-sacri 
ficing  patriotism  extorts  even  from  those  who  would 
fain  corrupt  and  bribe  it,  gave  him  a  ready  passport 
to  the  fashionable  society  of  the  metropolis.  He 
was  one  of  the  few  who  mingled  in  that  society,  and 
escaped  its  contamination,  and  who, 

Amidst  the  wavering  days  of  sin, 
Kept  himself  icy  chaste  and  pure. 

The  tone  and  temper  of  his  mind  may  be  most 
fitly  expressed  in  his  own  paraphrase  of  Horace  : 

Climb  at  Court  for  me  that  will, 
Tottering  Favor's  pinnacle  ; 
All  I  seek  is  to  lie  still ! 
Settled  in  some  secret  nest, 
In  calm  leisure  let  me  rest ; 
And,  far  off  the  public  stage, 
Pass  away  my  silent  age. 


ANDREW   MARVELL.  105 

Thus,  when,  without  noise,  unknown, 

I  have  lived  out  all  my  span, 
I  shall  die  without  a  groan, 

An  old,  honest  countryman. 
Who,  exposed  to  other's  eyes, 
Into  his  own  heart  ne'er  pries, 
Death's  to  him  a  strange  surprise. 

He  died  suddenly,  in  1678,  while  in  attendance  at 
a  popular  meeting  of  his  old  constituents  at  Hull. 
His  health  had  previously  been  remarkably  good  ; 
and  it  was  supposed  by  many  that  he  was  poisoned 
by  some  of  his  political  or  clerical  enemies.  His 
monument,  erected  by  his*  grateful  constituency, 
bears  the  following  inscription  : 

Near  this  place  lyeth  the  body  of  Andrew  Marvell,  Esq.,  a 
man  so  endowed  by  Nature,  so  improved  by  Education,  Study, 
and  Travel,  so  consummated  by  Experience,  that,  joining  the 
peculiar  graces  of  Wit  and  Learning,  with  a  singular  penetra 
tion  and  strength  of  judgment ;  and  exercising  all  these  in  the 
whole  course  of  his  life,  with  an  unutterable  steadiness  in  the 
ways  of  Virtue,  he  became  the  ornament  and  example  of  his 
age,  beloved  by  good  men,  feared  by  bad,  admired  by  all, 
though  imitated  by  few  ;  and  scarce  paralleled  by  any.  But  a 
Tombstone  can  neither  contain  his  character,  nor  is  Marble 
necessary  to  transmit  it  to  posterity  ;  it  is  engraved  in  the  minds 
of  this  generation,  and  will  be  always  legible  in  his  inimitable 
writings,  nevertheless.  He  having  served  twenty  years  suc 
cessively  in  Parliament,  and  that  with  such  Wisdom,  Dexterity, 
and  Courage  as  becomes  a  true  Patriot,  the  town  of  Kingston- 
upon-Hull,  from  whence  he  was  deputed  to  that  Assembly, 
lamenting  in  his  death  the  public  loss,  have  erected  this  Monu 
ment  of  their  Grief  and  their  Gratitude,  1688. 

Thus  lived  and  died  Andrew  Marvell.     His  mem- 


Io6  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

ory  is  the  inheritance  of  Americans  as  well  as  Eng-- 
lishmen.  His  example  commends  itself  in  an  es 
pecial  manner  to  the  legislators  of  our  Republic. 
Integrity  and  fidelity  to  principle  are  as  greatly 
needed  at  this  time  in  our  Halls  of  Congress  as  in 
the  Parliaments  of  the  Restoration ;  men  are  required 
who  can  feel,  with  Milton,  that  "it  is  high  honor 
done  them  from  God,  and  a  special  mark  of  His 
favor,  to  have  been  selected  to  stand  upright  and 
steadfast  in  His  cause,  dignified  with  the  defense  o£ 
Truth  and  public  liberty." 


JOHN    ROBERTS. 


THOMAS  CARLYLE,  in  his  history  of  the  stout 
and  sagacious  Monk  of  St.  Edmunds,  has  given  us  a 
fine  picture  of  the  actual  life  of  Englishmen  in  the 
middle  centuries.  The  dim  cell-lamp  of  the  some 
what  apocryphal  Jocelin  of  Brakelond,  becomes  in 
his  hands  a  huge  Drummond  light,  shining  over  the 
•dark  ages  like  the  naphtha-fed  cressets  over  Pande 
monium,  proving,  as  he  says  in  his  own  quaint  way, 
that  "  England  in  the  year  1200  was  no  dreamland, 
but  a  green,  solid  place,  which  grew  corn  and  several 
other  things  ;  the  sun  shone  on  it ;  the  vicissitudes  of 
seasons  and  human  fortunes  were  there ;  cloth  was 
woven,  ditches  dug,  furrowed  fields  plowed,  and 
houses  built."  And  if,  as  the  writer  just  quoted 
insists,  it  is  a  matter  of  no  small  importance  to 
make  it  credible  to  the  present  generation,  that  the 
Past  is  not  a  confused  dream  of  thrones  and  battle 
fields,  creeds  and  constitutions,  but  a  reality,  sub 
stantial  as  hearth  and  home,  harvest  field  and  smith 
shop,  merry-making  and  death,  could  make  it,  we 
shall  not  wholly  waste  our  own  time  and  that  of  our 
readers,  in  inviting  them  to  look  with  us  at  the  rural 
life  of  England  two  centuries  ago,  through  the  eyes 
of  John  Roberts  and  his  worthy  son  Daniel,  yeo 
men,  of  Siddington,  near  Cirencester. 

107 


lo8  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Tha  "  Memoirs  of  John  Roberts,  alias  Haywood,, 
by  his  son,  Daniel  Roberts"  (the  second  edition, 
printed  verbatim  from  the  original  one,  with  its 
picturesque  array  of  italics  and  capital  letters),  is  to 
be  found  only  in  a  few  of  our  old  Quaker  libraries. 
It  opens  with  some  account  of  the  family.  The 
father  of  the  elder  Roberts  "lived  reputably,  on  a 
little  estate  of  his  own,"  and  it  is  mentioned  as  note 
worthy  that  he  married  a  sister  of  a  gentleman  in 
the  Commission  of  the  Peace.  Com-ing  of  age 
about  the  beginning  of  the  civil  wars,  John  and  one 
of  his  young  neighbors  enlisted  in  the  service  of 
Parliament.  Hearing  that  Cirencester  had  been 
taken  by  the  King's  forces,  they  obtained  leave  of 
absence  to  visit  their  friends,  for  whose  safety  they 
naturally  felt  solicitous.  The  following  account  of 
the  reception  they  met  with  from  the  drunken  and 
ferocious  troopers  of  Charles  I,  the  "bravos  of  Al- 
satia  and  the  pages  of  Whitehall,"  throws  a  ghastly 
light  upon  the  horrors  of  civil  war : 

"  As  they  were  passing  by  Cirencester,  they  were1 
discovered  and  pursued  by  two  soldiers  of  the  King'f 
party,  then  in  possession  of  the  town.  Seeing  them> 
selves  pursued,  they  quitted  their  horses,  and  took 
to  their  heels  ;  but,  by  reason  of  their  accoutre 
ments,  could  make  little  speed.  They  came  up 
with  my  father  first ;  and,  though  he  begged  fof 
quarter,  none  they  would  give  him,  but  laid  on  him 
with  their  swords,  cutting  and  slashing  his  hands 
and  arms,  which  he  held  up  to  save  his  head  ;  ag 
the  marks  upon  them  did  long  after  testify.  At 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  109 

length  it  pleased  the  Almighty  to  put  it  into  his 
mind  to  fall  down  on  his  face  ;  which  he  did. 
Hereupon  the  soldiers,  being  on  horseback, -cried 
to  each  other,  Alight,  and  cut  his  throat!  but 
neither  of  them  did  ;  yet  continued  to  strike  and 
prick  him  about  the  jaws,  till  they  thought  him 
dead.  Then  they  left  him,  and  pursued  his  neigh 
bor,  whom  they  presently  overtook  and  killed. 
Soon  after  they  had  left  my  father,  it  was  said  in 
his  heart,  Rise,  and  flee  for  thy  life!  Which  call  he 
obeyed  ;  and,  starting  upon  his  feet,  his  enemies 
espied  him  in  motion,  and  pursued  him  again.  He 
ran  down  a  steep  hill,  and  through  a  river  which  ran 
at  the  bottom  of  it ;  though  with  exceeding  diffi 
culty,  his  boots  filling  with  water,  and  his  wounds 
bleeding  very  much.  They  followed  him  to  the  top 
of  the  hill;  but  seeing  he  had  got  over,  pursued 
him  no  farther." 

The  surgeon  who  attended  him  was  a  Royalist, 
and  bluntly  told  his  bleeding  patient  that  if  he  had 
met  him  in  the  street  he  would  have  killed  him  him 
self,  but  now  he  was  willing  to  cure  him.  On  his 
recovery,  young  Roberts  again  entered  the  army, 
and  continued  in  it  until  the  overthrow  of  the  Mon 
archy.  On  his  return,  he  married  "  Lydia  Tindall, 
of  the  denomination  of  Puritans"  A  majestic 
figure  rises  before  us,  on  reading  the  statement  that 
Sir  Matthew  Hale,  afterward  Lord  Chief  Justice  of 
England,  the  irreproachable  Jurist  and  Judicial 
Saint,  was  "  his  wife's  kinsman,  and  drew  her  mar- 
riage  settlement." 


no  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

No  stronger  testimony  to  the  high-toned  morality 
and  austere  virtue  of  the  Puritan  yeomanry  of  Eng 
land  can  be  adduced  than  the  fact,  that  of  the  fifty 
thousand  soldiers  who  were  discharged  on  the  acces 
sion  of  Charles  II,  and  left  to  shift  for  themselves, 
comparatively  few,  if  any,  became  chargeable  to  their 
parishes,  although  at  that  very  time  one  out  of  six 
of  the  English  population  were  unable  to  support 
themselves.  They  carried  into  their  farm-fields  and 
workshops  the  strict  habits  of  Cromwell's  discipline  ; 
and,  in  toiling  to  repair  their  wasted  fortunes,  they 
manifested  the  same  heroic  fortitude  and  self-denial 
which  in  war  had  made  them  such  formidable  and 
efficient  "Soldiers  of  the  Lord."  With  few  ex 
ceptions,  they  remained  steadfast  in  their  uncom 
promising  nonconformity,  abhorring  Prelacy  and 
Popery,  and  entertaining  no  very  orthodox  notions 
with  respect  to  the  divine  right  of  kings.  From 
them  the  Quakers  drew  their  most  zealous  cham 
pions  ;  men  who,  in  renouncing  the  "  carnal 
weapons  "  of  their  old  service,  found  employment 
for  habitual  combativeness  in  hot  and  wordy  secta 
rian  warfare.  To  this  day,  the  vocabulary  of  Quak 
erism  abounds  in  the  military  phrases  and  figures 
which  were  in  use  in  the  Commonwealth's  time. 
Their  old  force  and  significance  are  now  in  a  great 
measure  lost ;  but  one  can  well  imagine  that,  in  the 
assemblies  of  the  primitive  Quakers,  such  stirring 
battle-cries  and  warlike  tropes,  even  when  employed 
in  enforcing  or  illustrating  the  doctrines  of  peace, 
must  have  made  many  a  stout  heart  to  beat  quicker, 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  ill 

under  its  drab  coloring,  with  recollections  of  Naseby 
and  Preston  ;  transporting  many  a  listener  from  the 
benches  of  his  place  of  worship  to  the  ranks  of  Ire- 
ton  arid  Lambert,  and  causing  him  to  hear,  in  the 
place  of  the  solemn  and  nasal  tones  of  the  preacher, 
the  blast  of  Rupert's  bugles  and  the  answering 
shout  of  Cromwell's  pikemen:  "  Let  God  arise,  and 
let  his  enemies  be  scattered!  " 

Of  this  class  was  John  Roberts.  He  threw  off 
his  knapsack,  and  went  back  to  his  small  homestead, 
contented  with  the  privilege  of  supporting  himself 
and  family  by  daily  toil,  and  grumbling,  in  concert 
with  his  old  campaign  brothers,  at  the  new  order  of 
things  in  Church  and  State.  To  his  apprehension, 
the  Golden  Days  of  England  ended  with  the  parade 
on  Blackheath  to  receive  the  restored  King.  He 
manifested  no  reverence  for  Bishops  and  Lords,  for 
he  felt  none.  For  the  Presbyterians  he  had  no 
good  will ;  they  had  brought  in  the  King,  and  they 
denied  the  liberty  of  prophesying.  John  Milton  has 
expressed  the  feeling  of  the  Independents  and 
Anabaptists  toward  this  latter  class,  in  that  famous 
line  in  which  he  defines  Presbyter  as  "old  priest 
writ  large."  Roberts  was  by  no  means  a  gloomy 
fanatic;  he  had  a  great  deal  of  shrewdness  and  hu 
mor;  loved  a  quiet  joke;  and  every  gambling  priest 
and  swearing  magistrate  in  the  neighborhood  stood 
in  fear  of  his  sharp  wit.  It  was  quite  in  course  for 
such  a  man  to  fall  in  with  the  Quakers,  and  he  ap 
pears  to  have  done  so  at  the  first  opportunity. 

In  the  year  1665,  "  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  send 


112  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

two  women  Friends  out  of  the  ^North  to  Ciren- 
cester,"  who,  inquiring  after  such  as  feared  God, 
were  directed  to  the  house  of  John  Roberts.  He 
received  them  kindly,  and,  inviting  in  some  of  his 
neighbors,  sat  down  with  them,  whereupon,  "  the 
Friends  spake  a  few  words,  which  had  a  good  ef 
fect."  After  the  meeting  was  over,  he  was  induced 
to  visit  a  "  Friend"  then  confined  in  Banbury  jail, 
whom  he  found  preaching  through  the  grates  of  his 
cell  to  the  people  in  the  street.  On  seeing  Roberts, 
he  called  to  mind  the  story  of  Zaccheus,  and  de 
clared  that  the  word  was  now  to  all  who  were  seek 
ing  Christ  by  climbing  the  tree  of  knowledge, 
"  Come  down,  come  down  ;  for  that  which  is  to  be 
known  of  God  is  manifested  within."  Returning 
home,  he  went  soon  after  to  the  parish  meeting 
house,  and,  entering  with  his  hat  on,  the  priest 
noticed  him,  and  stopping  short  in  his  discourse,  de 
clared  that  he  could  not  go  on  while  one  of  the  con 
gregation  wore  his  hat.  He  was  thereupon  led  out 
of  the  house,  and  a  rude  fellow,  stealing  up  behind, 
struck  him  on  the  back  with  a  heavy  stone.  "Take 
that  for  God's  sake,"  said  the  ruffian.  "So  I  do," 
answered  Roberts,  without  looking  back  to  see  his 
assailant,  who  the  next  day  came  and  asked  his  for 
giveness  for  the  injury,  as  he  could  not  sleep  in  con 
sequence  of  it. 

We  next  find  him  attending  the  Quarter  Sessions, 
where  the  "  Friends "  were  arraigned  for  entering 
Cirencester  Church  with  their  hats  on.  Venturing 
to  utter  a  word  of  remonstrance  against  the  sum- 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  113 

mary  proceedings  of  the  Court,  Justice  Stephens  de 
manded  his  name,  and,  on  being  told,  exclaimed,  in 
the  very  tone  and  temper  of  Jeffreys,  "  I've  heard 
of  you.  I'm  glad  I  have  you  here.  You  deserve  a 
stone  doublet.  There  is  many  an  honester  man  than 
you  hanged."  "  It  may  be  so,"  said  Roberts,  "  but 
what  becomes  of  such  as  hang  honest  men  ?  "  The 
Justice  snatched  a  ball  of  wax,  and  hurled  it  at  the 
quiet  questioner.  "I'll  send  you  to  prison,"  said 
he  ;  "  and  if  any  insurrection  or  tumult  occurs,  I'll 
come  and  cut  your  throat  with  my  own  sword."  A 
warrant  was  made  out,  and  he  was  forthwith  sent  to 
the  jail.  In  the  evening,  Justice  Sollis,  his  uncle, 
released  him,  on  condition  of  his  promise  to  appear 
at  the  next  Sessions.  He  returned  to  his  home,  but 
in  the  night  following  he  was  impressed  with  a  be 
lief  that  it  was  his  duty  to  visit  Justice  Stephens. 
Early  in  the  morning,  with  a  heavy  heart,  without 
eating  or  drinking,  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
toward  the  residence  of  his  enemy.  When  he  came 
in  sight  of  the  house,  he'felt  strong  misgivings  that 
his  uncle,  Justice  Sollis,  who  had  so  kindly  released 
him,  and  his  neighbors  generally,  would  condemn 
him  for  voluntarily  running  into  danger,  and  draw 
ing  down  trouble  upon  himself  and  family.  He 
alighted  from  his  horse  and  sat  on  the  ground  in 
great  doubt  and  sorrow,  when  a  voice  seemed  to 
speak  within  him,  "  Go,  and  I  will  go  with  thee." 
The  Justice  met  him  at  the  door.  "  I  am  come," 
said  Roberts,  "  in  the  fear  and  dread  of  Heaven,  to 
warn  thee  to  repent  of  thy  wickedness  with  speed, 


H4  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

lest  the  Lord  send  thee  to  the  pit  that  is  bottom 
less!"  This  terrible  summons  awed  the  Justice  ; 
he  made  Roberts  sit  down  on  his  couch  beside  him, 
declaring  that  he  received  the  message  from  God, 
and  asked  forgiveness  for  the  wrong  he  had  done 
him. 

The  parish  vicar  of  Siddington  at  this  time  was 
George  Bull,  afterward  Bishop  of  St.  David's,  whom 
Macaulay  speaks  of  as  the  only  rural  parish  priest 
who,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  cen 
tury,  was  noted  as  a  theologian,  or  who  possessed  a 
respectable  library.  Roberts  refused  to  pay  the 
vicar  his  tithes,  and  the  vicar  sent  him  to  prison. 
It  was  the  priest's  "  Short  Method  with  Dissenters." 
While  the  sturdy  Nonconformist  lay  in  prison  he 
was  visited  by  the  great  woman  of  the  neighbor 
hood,  Lady  Dunch,  of  Down  Amney.  "  What  do 
you  lie  in  jail  for  ?  "  inquired  the  lady.  Roberts  re^ 
plied  that  it  was  because  he  could  not  put  bread  into 
the  mouth  of  a  hireling  priest.  The  lady  suggested 
that  he  might  let  somebody  else  satisfy  the  demands 
of  the  priest,  and  that  she  had  a  mind  to  do  this 
herself,  as  she  wished  to  talk  with  him  on  relig 
ious  subjects.  To  this  Roberts  objected  ;  there  were 
poor  people  who  needed  her  charities,  which  would 
be  wasted  on  such  devourers  as  the  priests,  who, 
like  Pharaoh's  lean  kine,  were  eating  up  the  fat  and 
the  goodly,  without  looking  a  whit  the  better. 
But  the  lady,  who  seems  to  have  been  pleased  and 
amused  by  the  obstinate  prisoner,  paid  the  tithe 
and  the  jail  fees,  and  sec  him  at  liberty,  making  him 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  11$ 

fix  a  day  when  he  would  visit  her.  At  the  time  ap 
pointed  he  went  to  Down  Amney,  and  was  over 
taken  on  the  way  by  the  priest  of  Cirencester,  who 
had  been  sent  for  to  meet  the  Quaker.  They  found 
the  lady  ill  in  bed  ;  but  she  had  them  brought  to 
her  chamber,  being  determined  not  to  lose  the 
amusement  of  hearing  a  theological  discussion,  to 
which  she  at  once  urged  them,  declaring  that  it 
would  divert  her  and  do  her  good.  The  Parson 
began  by  accusing  the  Quakers  of  holding  Popish 
doctrines.  The  Quaker  retorted  by  telling  him  that 
if  he  would  prove  the  Quakers  like  the  Papists  in 
one  thing,  by  the  help  of  God  he  would  prove  him 
like  them  in  ten!  After  a  brief  and  sharp  dispute, 
the  priest,  rinding  his  adversary's  wit  too  keen  for 
his  comfort,  hastily  took  his  leave. 

The  next  we  hear  of  Roberts,  he  is  in  Gloucester 
Castle,  subjected  to  the  brutal  usage  of  a  jailer,  who 
took  a  malicious  satisfaction  in  thrusting  decent  and 
respectable  Dissenters,  imprisoned  for  matters  of 
conscience,  among  felons  and  thieves.  A  poor  vag 
abond  tinker  was  hired  to  play  at  night  on  his 
hautboy  and  prevent  their  sleeping ;  but  Roberts 
spoke  to  him  in  such  a  manner  that  the  instrument 
fell  from  his  hand;  and  he  told  the  jailer  that  he 
would  play  no  more,  though  he  should  hang  him  up 
at  the  door  for  it. 

How  he  was  released  from  jail  does  not  appear ; 
but  the  narrative  tells  us  that,  some  time  after,  an 
apparitor  came  to  cite  him  to  the  Bishop's  Court  at 
Gloucester.  When  he  was  brought  before  the  Court, 


Ii6  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Bishop  Nicholson,  a  kind-hearted  and  easy-natured 
prelate,  asked  him  the  number  of  his  children,  and 
how  many  of  them  had  been  bishoped. 

"  None,  that  I  know  of,"  said  Roberts. 

"What  reason,"  asked  the  Bishop,  "  do  you  give 
for  this?" 

"A  very  good  one,"  said  the  Quaker;  "  most  of 
my  children  were  born  in  Oliver's  days,  when  Bishops 
were  out  of  fashion." 

The  Bishop  and  the  Court  laughed  at  this  sally, 
and  proceeded  to  question  him  touching  his  views 
of  baptism.  Roberts  admitted  that  John  had  a 
Divine  commission  to  baptize  with  water,  but  that 
he  never  heard  of  anybody  else  that  had.  The 
Bishop  reminded  him  that  Christ's  disciples  baptized. 
"  What's  that  to  me  ?  "  responded  Roberts.  "  Raul 
says  he  was  not  sent  to  baptize,  but  to  preach  the 
Gospel.  And  if  he  was  not  sent,  who  required  it  at 
his  hands?  Perhaps  he  had  as  little  thanks  for  his 
labor  as  thou  hast  for  thine;  and  I  would  willingly 
know  who  sent  thee  to  baptize?  " 

The  Bishop  evaded  this  home  question,  and  told 
him  he  was  there  to  answer  for  not  coming  to 
church.  Roberts  denied  the  charge  ;  sometimes  he 
went  to  church,  and  sometimes  it  came  to  him.  "  I 
don't  call  that  a  church  which  you  do,  which  is  made 
of  wood  and  stone." 

"  What  do  you  call  it?  "  asked  the  Bishop. 

"  It  might  be  properly  called  a  mass-house,"  was 
the  reply  ;  "for  it  was  built  for  that  purpose."  The 
Bishop  here  told  him  he  might  go  for  the  present ; 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  117 

he  would  take  another  opportunity  to  convince  him 
of  his  errors. 

The  next  person  called  was  a  Baptist  minister, 
who,  seeing  that  Roberts  refused  to  put  off  his  hat, 
kept  on  his  also.  The  Bishop  sternly  reminded  him 
that  he  stood  before  the  King's  Court,  and  the  rep 
resentative  of  the  majesty  of  England ;  and  that, 
while  some  regard  might  be  had  to  the  scruples  of 
men  who  made  a  conscience  of  putting  off  the  hat, 
such  contempt  could  not  be  tolerated  on  the  part  of 
one  who  could  put  it  off  to  every  mechanic  he  met. 
The  Baptist  pulled  off  his  hat,  and  apologized,  on 
the  ground  of  illness. 

We  find  Roberts  next  following  George  Fox  on 
a  visit  to  Bristol.  On  his  return,  reaching  his  house 
late  in  the  evening,  he  saw  a  man  standing  in  the 
moonlight  at  his  door,  and  knew  him  to  be  a  bailiff. 
"  Hast  thou  anything  against  me  ?  "  asked  Roberts. 
"No,"  said  the  bailiff,  "I've  wronged  you  enough, 
God  forgive  me  !  Those  who  lie  in  wait  for  you  are 
my  Lord  Bishop's  bailiffs  ;  they  are  merciless  rogues. 
Ever,  my  master,  while  you  live,  please  a  knave,  for 
an  honest  man  won't  hurt  you." 

The  next  morning,  having,  as  he  thought,  been 
warned  by  a  dream  to  do  so,  he  went  to  the  Bishop's 
house  at  Cleave,  near  Gloucester.  Confronting  the 
Bishop  in  his  own  hall,  he  told  him  that  he  had 
come  to  know  why  he  was  hunting  after  him  with 
his  bailiffs,  and  why  he  was  his  adversary?  "The 
King  is  your  adversary,"  said  the  Bishop;  "you 
have  broken  the  King's  law."  Roberts  ventured  to 


Il  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

deny  the  justice  of  the  law.  "What!"  cried  the 
Bishop,  "  do  such  men  as  you  find  fault  with  the 
laws?"  "  Yes,"  replied  the  other  stoutly ;  "and  I 
tell  thee  plainly  to  thy  face,  it  is  high  time  wiser 
men  were  chosen,  to  make  better  laws." 

The  discourse  turning  upon  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer,  Roberts  asked  the  Bishop  if  the  sin  of 
idolatry  did  not  consist  in  worshiping  the  work  of 
men's  hands.  The  Bishop  admitted  it,  as  in  the  case 
of  Nebuchadnezzar's  image. 

"  Then,"  said  Roberts,  "  whose  hands  made  your 
Prayer  Book  ?  It  could  not  make  itself." 

"  Do  you  compare  our  Prayer  Book  to  Nebuchad 
nezzar's  image?"  cried  the  Bishop. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Roberts,  "  that  was  his  image  ; 
this  is  thine.  I  no  more  dare  bow  to  thy  Common 
Prayer  Book  than  the  Three  Children  to  Nebuchad 
nezzar's  image." 

"Yours  is  a  strange  upstart  religion,"  said  the 
Bishop. 

Roberts  told  him  it  was  older  than  his  by  several 
hundred  years.  At  this  claim  of  antiquity  the 
Prelate  was  greatly  amused,  and  told  Roberts  that 
if  he  would  make  out  his  case,  he  should  speed  the 
better  for  it. 

"  Let  me  ask  thee,"  said  Roberts,  "  where  thy 
religion  was  in  Oliver's  days,  when  thy  Common 
Prayer  Book  was  as  little  regarded  as  an  old  Alma 
nac  ;  and  your  priests,  with  a  few  honest  exceptions, 
turned  with  the  tide,  and  if  Oliver  had  put  mass  in 
their  mouths,  would  have  conformed  to  it  for  the 
sake  of  their  bellies." 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  1 19 

"  What  would  you  have  us  do?  "  asked  the  Bishop. 
"  Would  you  have  had  Oliver  cut  our  throats  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Roberts ;  "  but  what  sort  of  religion 
was  that  which  you  were  afraid  to  venture  your 
throats  for?  " 

The  Bishop  interrupted  him  to  say,  that  in  Oliver's 
days  he  had  never  owned  any  other  religion  than  his 
own,  although  he  did  not  dare  to  openly  maintain  it 
as  he  then  did. 

"  Well,"  continued  Roberts,  "  if  thou  didst  not 
think  thy  religion  worth  venturing  thy  throat  for 
then,  I  desire  thee  to  consider  that  it  is  not  worth 
the  cutting  of  other  men's  throats  now  for  not  con 
forming  to  it." 

"  You  are  right,"  responded  the  frank  Bishop. 
"  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  care  how  we  cut  men's 
throats." 

The  following  colloquy  throws  some  light  on  the 
condition  and  character  of  the  rural  clergy  at  this 
period,  and  goes  far  to  confirm  the  statements  of 
Macaulay,  which  many  have  supposed  exaggerated. 
Baxter's  early  religious  teachers  were  more  excep 
tionable  than  even  the  maudlin  mummer  whom 
Roberts  speaks  of,  one  of  them  being  "  the  excel- 
lentest  stage-player  in  all  the  country,  and  a  good 
gamester  and  good  fellow,  who,  having  received 
Holy  Orders,  forged  the  like  for  a  neighbor's  son  ; 
who,  on  the  strength  of  that  title,  officiated  at  the 
desk  and  altar;  and  after  him  came  an  attorney's 
clerk,  who  had  tippled  himself  into  so  great  poverty 
that  he  had  no  other  way  to  live  than  to  preach." 

J,  ROBERTS.  I   was  bred   up   under  a   Common 


120  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Prayer  Priest ;  and  a  poor  drunken  old  Man  he  was  ; 
sometimes  he  was  so  drunk  he  could  not  say  his 
Prayers,  and  at  best  he  could  but  say  them  ;  though 
I  think  he  was  by  far  a  better  Man  than  he  that  is 
Priest  there  now. 

BISHOP.  Who  is  your  Minister  now? 

J.  ROBERTS.  My  Minister  is  Christ  Jesus,  the 
Minister  of  the  everlasting  Covenant;  but  the  pres 
ent  Priest  of  the  Parish  is  George  Bull, 

BISHOP.  Do  you  say  that  drunken  old  Man  was 
better  than  Mr.  Bull?  I  tell  you,  I  account  Mr. 
Bull  as  sound,  able,  and  orthodox  a  Divine  as  any 
we  have  among  us. 

J.  ROBERTS.  I  am  sorry  for  that  ;  for  if  he  be  one 
of  the  best  of  you,  I  believe  the  Lord  will  not  suffer 
you  long.  For  he  is  a  proud,  ambitious,  ungodly 
Man  ;  he  hath  often  sued  me  at  Law,  and  brought 
his  Servants  to  swear  against  me  wrongfully.  His 
Servants  themselves  have  confessed  to  my  Servants, 
that  I  might  have  their  Ears  ;  for  their  Master  made 
them  drunk,  and  then  told  them  they  were  set  down 
in  the  List  as  Witnesses  against  me,  and  they  must 
swear  to  it.  And  so  they  did,  and  brought  treble 
Damages.  They  likewise  owned  they  took  Tithes 
from  my  Servants,  threshed  them  out,  and  sold  them 
for  their  Master.  They  have  also  several  Times 
took  my  Cattle  out  of  my  Grounds,  drove  them  to 
Fairs  and  Markets,  and  sold  them,  without  giving 
me  any  Account. 

BISHOP.  I  do  assure  you  I  will  inform  Mr.  Bull 
of  what  you  say. 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  121 

J.  ROBERTS.  Very  well.  And  if  thou  pleasest 
to  send  for  me  to  face  him,  I  shall  make  much  more 
appear  to  his  Face  than  I'll  say  behind  his  Back. 

After  much  more  discourse,  Roberts  told  the 
Bishop  that  if  it  would  do  him  any  good  to  have 
him  in  jail,  he  would  voluntarily  go  and  deliver  him 
self  up  to  the  keeper  of  Gloucester  Castle.  The 
good-natured  Prelate  relented  at  this,  and  said  he 
should  not  be  molested  or  injured,  and  further  mani 
fested  his  good  will  by  ordering  refreshments.  One 
of  the  Bishop's  friends  who  was  present  was  highly 
offended  by  the  freedom  of  Roberts  with  his  Lord 
ship,  and  undertook  to  rebuke  him,  but  was  so 
readily  answered,  that  he  flew  into  a  rage.  "  If  all 
the  Quakers  in  England,"  said  he,  "  are  not  hanged 
in  a  month's  time,  I'll  be  hanged  for  them." 
"  Prithee,  friend,"  quoth  Roberts,  "  remember  and 
be  as  good  as  thy  word  !  " 

Good  old  Bishop  Nicholson,  it  would  seem,  really 
liked  his  incorrigible  Quaker  neighbor,  and  could 
enjoy  heartily  his  wit  and  humor,  even  when  exer 
cised  at  the  expense  of  his  own  ecclesiastical  dig 
nity.  He  admired  his  blunt  honesty  and  courage. 
Surrounded  by  flatterers  and  self-seekers,  he  found 
satisfaction  in  the  company  and  conversation  of  one 
who,  setting  aside  all  conventionalisms,  saw  only  in 
my  Lord  Bishop  a  poor  fellow-probationer,  and 
addressed  him  on  terms  of  conscious  equality. 
The  indulgence  which  he  extended  to  him,  natu 
rally  enough  provoked  many  of  the  inferior  clergy, 
who  had  been  sorely  annoyed  by  the  sturdy  Dis- 


122  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

senter's  irreverent  witticisms  and  unsparing  ridicule. 
Vicar  Bull,  of  Siddington,  and  Priest  Careless,  of 
Cirencester,  in  particular,  urged  the  Bishop  to  deal 
sharply  with  him.  The  former  accused  him  of 
dealing  in  the  Black  Art,  and  filled  the  Bishop's  ear 
with  certain  marvelous  stories  of  his  preternatural 
sagacity  and  discernment  in  discovering  cattle  which 
were  lost.  The  Bishop  took  occasion  to  inquire 
into  these  stories  ;  and  was  told  by  Roberts,  that, 
except  in  a  single  instance,  the  discoveries  were  the 
result  of  his  acquaintance  with  the  habits  of  animals, 
and  his  knowledge  of  the  localities  where  they  were 
lost.  The  circumstance  alluded  to  as  an  exception, 
will  be  best  related  in  his  own  words : 

"  I  had  a  poor  Neighbor,  who  had  a  Wife  and  six 
Children,  and  whom  the  chief  men  about  us  per 
mitted  to  keep  six  or  seven  Cows  upon  the  Waste, 
which  were  the  principal  Support  of  the  Family, 
and  preserved  them  from  becoming  chargeable  to 
the  Parish.  One  very  stormy  night,  the  Cattle  were 
left  in  the  Yard  as  usual,  but  could  not  be  found  in 
the  morning.  The  Man  and  his  Sons  had  sought 
them  to  no  purpose;  and,  after  they  had  been  lost 
four  days,  his  Wife  came  to  me,  and,  in  a  great  deal 
of  grief,  cried,  *O  Lord!  Master  Hayward,  we  are 
undone  !  My  Husband  and  I  must  go  a-begging  in 
our  old  age  !  We  have  lost  all  our  Cows.  My  Hus 
band  and  the  Boys  have  been  round  the  country, 
and  can  hear  nothing  of  them.  I'll  down  on  my 
bare  knees,  if  you'll  stand  our  Friend  ! '  I  desired 
she  would  not  be  in  such  an  agony,  and  told  her  she 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  123 

should  not  down  on  her  knees  to  me ;  but  I  would 
gladly  help  them  in  what  I  could.  '  I  know,'  said 
she,  'you  are  a  good  Man,  and  God  will  hear 
your  Prayers.'  I  desire  thee,  said  I,  to  be  still  and 
quiet  in  thy  mind  ;  perhaps  thy  Husband  or  Sons 
may  hear  of  them  to-day  ;  if  not,  let  thy  Husband 
get  a  horse,  and  come  to  me  to-morrow  morning 
as  soon  as  he  will ;  and  I  think,  if  it  please  God,  to 
go  with  him  to  seek  them.  The  Woman  seemed 
transported  with  joy,  crying,  *  Then  we  shall  have 
our  Cows  again.'  Her  Faith  being  so  strong, 
brought  the  great  Exercise  on  me,  with  strong  cries 
to  the  Lord  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  make  me 
instrumental  in  his  Hand,  for  the  help  of  the  poor 
Family.  In  the  Morning  early  comes  the  old  Man. 
In  the  Name  of  God,  says  he,  which  Way  shall  we  go 
to  seek  them  f  I,  being  deeply  concerned  in  my 
Mind,  did  not  answer  him  till  he  had  thrice  repeated 
it ;  and  then  I  answered,  In  the  Name  of  God,  I 
would  goto  seek  them  ;  and  said  (before  I  was  well 
aware),  we  will  go  to  Malmsbury,  and  at  the  Horse 
Fair  we  shall  find  them.  When  I  had  spoken  the 
Words,  I  was  much  troubled  lest  they  should  not 
prove  true.  It  was  very  early,  and  the  first  Man  we 
saw,  I  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  any  stray  Milch 
Cows  thereabouts  ?  What  manner  of  Cattle  are 
they  f  said  he.  And  the  old  Man  describing  their 
Mark  and  Number,  he  told  us  there  were  some  stood 
chewing  their  Cuds  in  the  Horse  Fair  ;  but,  thinking 
they  belonged  to  some  in  the  Neighborhood,  he  did 
not  take  particular  Notice  of  them.  When  we 


"4  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHED. 

came  to  the  Place,  the  old  Man  found  them  to  be 
his ;  but  suffered  his  Transports  of  Joy  to  rise  so 
high,  that  I  was  ashamed  of  his  behavior ;  for  he 
fell  a-hallooing,  and  threw  up  his  Montier  Cap  in  the 
Air  several  times,  till  he  raised  the  Neighbors  out 
of  their  Beds  to  see  what  was  the  Matter.  *  Oh  ! ' 
said  he,  '  I  had  lost  my  Cows  four  or  five  days  ago, 
and  thought  I  should  never  see  them  again  ;  and  this 
honest  Neighbor  of  mine  told  me  this  Morning,  by 
his  own  Fire's  Side,  nine  Miles  off,  that  here  I 
should  find  them,  and  here  I  have  them  ! '  Then  up 
goes  his  Cap  again.  I  begged  of  the  poor  Man  to  be 
quiet,  and  take  his  Cows  home,  and  be  thankful ;  as 
indeed  I  was,  being  reverently  bowed  in  my  Spirit 
before  the  Lord,  in  that  he  was  pleased  to  put  the 
words  of  Truth  into  my  mouth.  And  the  Man  drove 
his  Cattle  home,  to  the  great  Joy  of"his  Family." 

Not  long  after  the  interview  with  the  Bishop  at 
his  own  palace,  which  has  been  related,  that  digni 
tary,  with  the  Lord  Chancellor,  in  their  coaches,  and 
about  twenty  clergymen  on  horseback,  made  a  call 
at  the  humble  dwelling  of  Roberts,  on  their  way  to 
Tedbury,  where  the  Bishop  was  to  hold  a  Visitation. 
"  I  could  not  go  out  of  the  country  without  seeing 
you,"  said  the  Prelate,  as  the  farmer  came  to  his 
coach  door  and  pressed  him  to  alight. 

41  John,"  asked  Priest  Evans,  the  Bishop's  kins 
man,  "is  your  house  free  to  entertain  such  men  as 
we  are  ?  " 

"  Yes,  George,"  said  Roberts  ;  "  I  entertain  honest 
men,  and  sometimes  others." 


JOKN  ROBERTS.  125 

"  My  Lord,"  said  Evans,  turning  to  the  Bishop, 
"John's  friends  are  the  honest  men,  and  we  are  the 
others." 

The  Bishop  told  Roberts  that  they  could  not  then 
alight,  but  would  gladly  drink  with  him ;  whereupon, 
the  good  wife  brought  out  her  best  beer.  "  I  com 
mend  you,  John,"  quoth  the  Bishop,  as  he  paused 
from  his  hearty  draught;  "you  keep  a  cup  of  good 
beer  in  your  house.  I  have  not  drank  any  that  has 
pleased  me  better  since  I  left  home."  The  cup 
passed  next  to  the  Chancellor,  and  finally  came  to 
Priest  Bull,  who  thrust  it  aside,  declaring  that  it  was 
full  of  hops  and  heresy.  As  to  Hops,  Roberts  re 
plied,  he  could  not  say ;  but,  as  for  Heresy,  he  bade 
the  priest  take  note,  that  the  Lord  Bishop  had  drank 
of  it,  and  had  found  no  heresy  in  the  cup. 

The  Bishop  leaned  over  his  coach  door  and  whis 
pered  :  "  John,  I  advise  you  to  take  care  you  don't 
offend  against  the  higher  Powers.  I  have  heard 
great  complaints  against  you,  that  you  are  the  Ring 
leader  of  the  Quakers  in  this  Country;  and  that,  if 
you  are  not  suppressed,  all  will  signify  nothing. 
Therefore,  pray,  John,  take  care  for  the  future  you 
don't  offend  any  more." 

"  I  like  thy  Counsel  very  well,"  answered  Roberts, 
"  and  intend  to  take  it.  But  thou  knowest  God  is 
the  higher  Power;  and  you  mortal  Men,  however 
advanced  in  this  World,  are  but  the  lower  Power; 
and  it  is  only  because  I  endeavor  to  be  obedient  to 
the  will  of  the  higher  Powers,  that  the  lower  Powers 
are  angry  with  me.  But  I  hope,  with  the  assistance 


126  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

of  God,  to  take  thy  Counsel,  and  be  subject  to  the 
higher  Powers,  let  the  lower  Powers  do  with  me  as 
it  may  please  God  to  suffer  them." 

The  Bishop  then  said  he  would  like  to  talk  with 
him  further,  and  requested  him  to  meet  him  at  Ted- 
bury  the  next  day.  At  the  time  appointed,  Roberts 
went  to  the  inn  where  the  Bishop  lodged,  and  was 
invited  to  dine  with  him.  After  dinner  was  over, 
the  Prelate  told  him  that  he  must  go  to  church,  and 
leave  off  holding  Conventicles  at  his  house,  of  which 
great  complaint  was  made.  This  he  flatly  refused 
to  do ;  and  the  Bishop,  losing  patience,  ordered  the 
constable  to  be  sent  for.  Roberts  told  him,  that  if, 
after  coming  to  his  house  under  the  guise  of  friend 
ship,  he  should  betray  him  and  send  him  to  prison, 
he,  who  had  hitherto  commended  him  for  his  mod 
eration,  would  put  his  name  in  print,  and  cause  it  to 
stink  before  all  sober  people.  It  was  the  priests,  he 
told  him,  who  set  him  on ;  but,  instead  of  hearken* 
ing  to  them,  he  should  commend  them  to  some  hon 
est  vocation,  and  not  suffer  them  to  rob  their  honest 
neighbors,  and  feed  on  the  fruits  of  other  men's  toil, 
like  caterpillars. 

"  Whom  do  you  call  caterpillars  ?  "  cried  Priest 
Rich,  of  North  Surrey. 

"  We  farmers,"  said  Roberts,  "  call  those  so  who 
live  on  other  men's  fields,  and  by  the  sweat  of 
other  men's  brows ;  and  if  thou  dost  so,  thou 
mayst  be  one  of  them." 

This  reply  so  enraged  the  Bishop's  attendants, 
that  they  could  only  be  appeased  by  an  order  for 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  12? 

the  constable  to  take  him  to  jail.  In  fact,  there  was 
some  ground  for  complaint  of  a  lack  of  courtesy  on 
the  part  of  the  blunt  farmer;  and  the  Christian 
virtue  of  forbearance,  even  in  bishops,  has  its  limits. 

The  constable,  obeying  the  summons,  came  to  the 
inn,  at  the  door  of  which  the  landlady  met  him. 
41  What  do  you  here ! "  cried  the  good  woman, 
"  when  honest  John  is  going  to  be  sent  to  prison  ? 
Here,  come  along  with  me."  The  constable,  noth 
ing  loath,  followed  her  into  a  private  room,  where 
she  concealed  him.  Word  was  sent  to  the  Bishop 
that  the  constable  was  not  to  be  found  ;  and  the 
Prelate,  telling  Roberts  he  could  send  him  to  jail  in 
the  afternoon,  dismissed  him  until  evening.  At  the 
hour  appointed,  the  latter  waited  upon  the  Bishop, 
and  found  with  him  only  one  priest  and  a  lay  gentle 
man.  The  priest  begged  the  Bishop  to  be  allowed 
to  discourse  with  the  prisoner;  and,  leave  being 
granted,  he  began  by  telling  Roberts  that  the 
knowledge  of  the  Scriptures  had  made  him  mad, 
and  that  it  was  a  great  pity  he  had  ever  seen  them. 

"  Thou  art  an  unworthy  man,"  said  the  Quaker, 
"and  I'll  not  dispute  with  thee.  If  the  knowledge 
of  the  Scriptures  has  made  me  mad,  the  knowledge 
of  the  sack-pot  hath  almost  made  thee  mad  ;  and  if 
we  two  madmen  should  dispute  about  religion,  we 
should  make  mad  work  of  it." 

"  An't  please  you,  my  Lord,"  said  the  scandalized 
priest,  "  he  says  I'm  drunk." 

The  Bishop  asked  Roberts  to  repeat  his  words  ; 
and,  instead  of  reprimanding  him,  as  the  priest  ex- 


128  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

peeled,  was  so  much  amused  that  he  held  up  his 
hands  and  laughed ;  whereupon,  the  offended  in 
ferior  took  a  hasty  leave.  The  Bishop,  who  was 
evidently  glad  to  be  rid  of  him,  now  turned  to 
Roberts,  and  complained  that  he  had  dealt  hardly 
with  him,  in  telling  him,  before  so  many  gentlemen, 
that  he  had  sought  to  betray  him  by  professions  of 
friendship,  in  order  to  send  him  to  prison ;  and  that, 
if  he  had  not  done  as  he  did,  people  would  have 
reported  him  as  an  encourager  of  the  Quakers. 
"  But  now,  John,"  said  the  good  Prelate,  "  I'll  burn 
•the  warrant  against  you  before  your  face."  "You 
know,  Mr.  Burnet,"  he  continued,  addressing  his  at 
tendant,  "  that  a  Ring  of  Bells  may  be  made  of  ex 
cellent  metal,  but  they  may  be  out  of  tune  ;  so  we 
may  say  of  John  ;  he  is  a  man  of  as  good  metal  as  I 
ever  met  with,  but  quite  out  of  tune." 

"  Thou  may'st  well  say  so,"  quoth  Roberts, *'  for 
I  can't  tune  after  thy  pipe." 

The  inferior  clergy  were  by  no  means  so  lenient 
as  the  Bishop.  They  regarded  Roberts  as  the  Ring 
leader  of  Dissent,  an  impracticable,  obstinate,  con 
tumacious  heretic ;  not  only  refusing  to  pay  them 
tithes  himself,  but  encouraging  others  to  the  same 
course.  Hence,  they  thought  it  necessary  to  visit 
upon  him  the  full  rigor  of  the  law.  His  crops  were 
taken  from  his  field,  and  his  cattle  from  his  yard. 
He  was  often  committed  to  the  jail,  where,  on  one 
occasion,  he  was  kept,  with  many  others,  for  a  long 
time,  through  the  malice  of  the  jailer,  who  refused 
to  put  the  names  of  his  prisoners  in  the  Calendar, 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  129 

that  they  might  have  a  hearing.  But  the  spirit 
of  the  old  Commonwealth's  man  remained  steadfast. 
When  Justice  George,  at  the  Ram  in  Cirencester, 
told  him  he  must  conform,  and  go  to  church,  or  suf 
fer  the  penalty  of  the  law,  he  replied,  that  he  had 
heard  indeed  that  some  were  formerly  whipped  out 
of  the  Temple,  but  he  had  never  heard  of  any  being 
whipped  in.  The  Justice,  pointing  through  the 
open  window  of  the  inn,  at  the  church  tower,  asked 
him  what  that  was.  "  Thou  may'st  call  it  a  daw- 
house,"  answered  the  incorrigible  Quaker.  "Dost 
thou  not  see  how  the  jackdaws  flock  about  it?" 

Sometimes  it  happened  that  the  clergyman  was 
also  a  magistrate,  and  united  in  his  own  person  the 
authority  of  the  State  and  the  zeal  of  the  Church. 
Justice  Parsons,  of  Gloucester,  was  a  functionary  of 
this  sort.  He  wielded  the  sword  of  the  spirit  on  the 
Sabbath  against  Dissenters,  and  on  week  days  be 
labored  them  with  the  arm  of  flesh  and  the  con 
stable's  staff.  At  one  time  he  had  between  forty 
and  fifty  of  them  locked  up  in  Gloucester  Castle, 
among  them  Roberts  and  his  sons,  on  the  charge 
of  attending  Conventicles.  But  the  troublesome 
prisoners  baffled  his  vigilance,  and  turned  their 
prison  into  a  meeting-house,  and  held  their  Conven 
ticles  in  defiance  of  him.  The  Reverend  Justice 
pounced  upon  them  on  one  occasion,  with  his  at 
tendants.  An  old,  gray-haired  man,  formerly  a 
strolling  fencing-master,  was  preaching  when  he 
came  in.  The  Justice  laid  hold  of  him  by  his  white 
Jocks,  and  strove  to  pull  him  down  ;  but  the  tall 


13°  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

fencing-master  stood  firm  and  spoke  on ;  he  then 
tried  to  gag  him,  but  failed  in  that  also.  He  de 
manded  the  names  of  the  prisoners,  but  no  one  an 
swered  him.  A  voice  (we  fancy  it  was  that  of  our 
old  friend  Roberts)  called  out :  "  The  Devil  must  be 
hard  put  to  it  to  have  his  drudgery  done,  when  the 
Priests  must  leave  their  pulpits  to  turn  informers 
against  poor  prisoners."  The  Justice  obtained  a  list 
of  the  names  of  the  prisoners,  made  out  on  their 
commitment,  and,  taking  it  for  granted  that  all  were 
still  present,  issued  warrants  for  the  collection  of 
fines  by  levies  upon  their  estates.  Among  the 
names  was  that  of  a  poor  widow,  who  had  been  dis 
charged,  and  was  living,  at  the  time  the  clerical 
Magistrate  swore  she  was  at  the  meeting,  twenty 
miles  distant  from  the  prison. 

Soon  after  this  event,  our  old  friend  fell  sick.  He 
had  been  discharged  from  prison,  but  his  sons  were 
still  confined.  The  eldest  had  leave,  however,  to 
attend  him  in  his  illness,  and  he  bears  his  testimony 
that  the  Lord  was  pleased  to  favor  his  father  with 
His  living  presence  in  his  last  moments.  In  keep 
ing  with  the  sturdy  Nonconformist's  life,  he  was  in 
terred  at  the  foot  of  his  own  orchard,  in  Siddington  ; 
a  spot  he  had  selected  for  a  burial-ground  long  be 
fore,  where  neither  the  foot  of  a  priest  nor  the 
shadow  of  a  steeple-house  could  rest  upon  his  grave. 

In  closing  our  notice  of  this  pleasant  old  narra 
tive,  we  may  remark  that  the  light  it  sheds  upon 
the  antagonistic  religious  parties  of  the  time  is  cal 
culated  to  dissipate  prejudices,  and  correct  misap- 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  131 

prehensions,  common  alike  to  Churchmen  and  Dis 
senters.  The  genial  humor,  sound  sense,  and  ster 
ling  virtues  of  the  Quaker  farmer,  should  teach  the 
one  class  that  poor  James  Nayler,  in  his  craziness 
and  folly,  was  not  a  fair  representative  of  his  sect ; 
while  the  kind  nature,  the  hearty  appreciation  of 
goodness,  and  the  generosity  and  candor  of  Bishop 
Nicholson,  should  convince  the  other  class  that  a 
prelate  is  not  necessarily,  and  by  virtue  of  his  miter, 
a  Laud  or  a  Bonner.  The  Dissenters  of  the  seven 
teenth  century  may  well  be  forgiven  for  the  asper 
ity  of  their  language  ;  men  whose  ears  had  been 
cropped  because  they  would  not  recognize  Charles 
I  as  a  blessed  martyr,  and  his  scandalous  son  as  the 
head  of  the  Church,  could  scarcely  be  expected  to 
make  discriminations,  or  suggest  palliating  circum 
stances,  favorable  to  any  class  of  their  adversaries. 
To  use  the  homely  but  apt  simile  of  McFingal, 

The  will's  confirmed  by  treatment  horrid, 
As  hides  grow  harder  when  they're  curried. 

They  were  wronged,  and  they  told  the  world  of  it. 
Unlike  Shakespeare's  cardinal,  they  did  not  die  with 
out  a  sign.  They  branded,  by  their  fierce  epithets, 
the  foreheads  of  their  persecutors  more  deeply  than 
the  sheriff's  hot  iron  did  their  own.  If  they  lost 
their  ears,  they  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  making 
those  of  their  oppressors  tingle.  Knowing  their 
persecutors  to  be  in  the  wrong,  they  did  not  always 
inquire  whether  they  themselves  had  been  entirely 
right,  and  had  done  no  unrequired  works  of  super- 


132  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

erogation  by  the  way  of  "  testimony"  against  theif 
neighbors'  mode  of  worship.  And  so  from  pillory 
and  whipping-post,  from  prison  and  scaffold,  they 
set  forth  their  wail  and  execration,  their  miserere 
and  anathema,  and  the  sound  thereof  has  reached 
down  to  our  day.  May  it  never  wholly  die  away 
until,  the  world  over,  the  forcing  of  conscience  is 
regarded  as  a  crime  against  humanity  and  a  usur 
pation  of  God's  prerogative.  But  abhorring,  as  we 
must,  persecution,  under  whatever  pretext  it  is  em 
ployed,  we  are  not  therefore  to  conclude  that  all 
persecutors  were  bad  and  unfeeling  men.  Many  of 
their  severities,  upon  which  we  now  look  back  with 
horror,  were,  beyond  a  question,  the  result  of  an  in 
tense  anxiety  for  the  well-being  of  immortal  souls, 
endangered  by  the  poison  which,  in  their  view, 
heresy  was  casting  into  the  waters  of  life.  Coleridge, 
in  one  of  the  moods  of  a  mind  which  traversed  in 
imagination  the  vast  circle  of  human  experience, 
reaches  this  point  in  his  "  Table-Talk."  "  It  would 
require,"  says  he,  "  stronger  arguments  than  any  I 
have  seen  to  convince  me  that  men  in  authority 
have  not  a  right,  involved  in  an  imperative  duty,  to 
deter  those  under  their  control  from  teaching  or 
countenancing  doctrines  which  they  believe  to  be 
damnable,  and  even  to  punish  with  death  those  wh» 
violate  such  prohibition."  It  would  not  be  very 
difficult  for  us  to  imagine  a  tender-hearted  Inquisi 
tor  of  this  stamp,  stifling  his  weak  compassion  for 
the  shrieking  wretch  under  bodily  torment,  by  his 
strong  pity  for  souls  in  danger  of  perdition  from 


JOHN  ROBERTS.  133 

the  sufferer's  heresy.  We  all  know  with  what  satis 
faction  the  gentle-spirited  Melanchthon  heard  of  the 
burning  of  Servetus,  and  with  what  zeal  he  de 
fended  it.  The  truth  is,  the  notion  that  an  intel 
lectual  recognition  of  certain  dogmas  is  the  essential 
condition  of  salvation  lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  intol 
erance  in  matters  of  religion.  Under  this  impres 
sion,  men  are  too  apt  to  forget  that  the  great  end  of 
Christianity  is  Love,  and  that  Charity  is  its  crowning 
virtue;  they  overlook  the  beautiful  significance  of 
the  parable  of  the  heretic  Samaritan  and  the  ortho 
dox  Pharisee  ;  and  thus,  by  suffering  their  specula 
tive  opinions  of  the  next  world  to  make  them  un 
charitable  and  cruel  in  this,  they  are  really  the  worse 
for  them,  even  admitting  them  to  be  true. 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS. 


THREE  quarters  of  a  century  ago,  the  name  of 
Samuel  Hopkins  was  as  familiar  as  a  household 
word  throughout  New  England.  It  was  a  spell 
wherewith  to  raise  at  once  a  storm  of  theological 
controversy.  The  venerable  minister  who  bore  it 
had  his  thousands  of  ardent  young  disciples,  as  well 
as  defenders  and  followers  of  mature  age  and  ac 
knowledged  talent ;  a  hundred  pulpits  propagated 
the  dogmas  which  he  had  engrafted  on  the  stock  of 
Calvinism.  Nor  did  he  lack  numerous  and  power 
ful  antagonists.  The  sledge  ecclesiastic,  with  more 
or  less  effect,  was  unceasingly  plied  upon  the  strong- 
linked  chain  of  argument  which  he  slowly  and  pain 
fully  elaborated  in  the  seclusion  of  his  parish.  The 
press  groaned  under  large  volumes  of  theological, 
metaphysical,  and  psychological  disquisition,  the 
very  thought  of  which  is  now  "  a  weariness  to  the 
flesh  "  ;  in  rapid  succession  pamphlet  encountered 
pamphlet,  horned,  beaked,  and  sharp  of  talon,  grap 
pling  with  each  other  in  mid-air,  like  Milton's  angels. 
That  loud  controversy,  the  sound  whereof  went  over 
Christendom,  awakening  responses  from  beyond  the 
Atlantic,  has  now  died  away;  its  watchwords  no 
longer  stir  the  blood  of  belligerent  sermonizers  ;  its 

»34 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS.  135 

very  terms  and  definitions  have  well-nigh  become 
obsolete  and  unintelligible.  The  hands  which  wrote 
and  the  tongues  which  spoke  in  that  day  are  now  all 
cold  and  silent ;  even  Emmons,  the  brave  old  intel 
lectual  athlete  of  Franklin,  now  sleeps  with  his 
fathers  ;  the  last  of  the  giants.  Their  fame  is  still  in 
all  the  churches ;  effeminate  clerical  dandyism  still 
affects  to  do  homage  to  their  memories;  the  earnest 
young  theologian,  exploring  with  awe  the  mountain 
ous  debris  of  their  controversial  lore,  ponders  over 
the  colossal  thoughts  entombed  therein,  as  he  would 
over  the  gigantic  fossils  of  an  early  creation,  and  en 
deavors  in  vain  to  recall  to  the  skeleton  abstractions 
before  him,  the  warm  and  vigorous  life  wherewith 
they  were  once  clothed;  but  Hopkinsianism,  as  a 
distinct  and  living  school  of  philosophy,  theology, 
and  metaphysics,  no  longer  exists.  It  has  no  living 
oracles  left ;  and  its  memory  survives  only  in  the 
doctrinal  treatises  of  the  elder  and  younger  Ed 
wards,  Hopkins,  Bellamy,  and  Emmons. 

It  is  no  part  of  our  present  purpose  to  discuss  the 
merits  of  the  system  in  question.  Indeed,  looking 
at  the  great  controversy  which  divided  New  England 
Calvinism  in  the  eighteenth  century,  from  a  point  of 
view  which  secures  our  impartiality  and  freedom 
from  prejudice,  we  find  it  exceedingly  difficult  to  get 
a  precise  idea  of  what  was  actually  at  issue.  To  our 
poor  comprehension,  much  of  the  dispute  hinges 
upon  names  rather  than  things;  on  the  manner  of 
reaching  conclusions  quite  as  much  as  upon  the  con 
clusions  themselves.  Its  origin  may  be  traced  to 


1 36  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

the  great  religious  awakening  of  the  middle  of  the 
past  century,  when  the  dogmas  of  the  Calvinistic 
faith  were  subjected  to  the  inquiry  of  acute  and 
earnest  minds,  roused  up  from  the  incurious  ease  and 
passive  indifference  of  nominal  orthodoxy.  With 
out  intending  it,  it  broke  down  some  of  the  barriers 
which  separated  Arminianism  and  Calvinism ;  its 
product,  Hopkinsianism,  while  it  pushed  the  doctrine 
of  the  Genevan  reformer  on  the  subject  of  the  Divine 
decrees  and  agency  to  that  extreme  point  where  it 
well-nigh  loses  itself  in  Pantheism,  held  at  the  same 
time  that  guilt  could  not  be  hereditary ;  that  man, 
being  responsible  for  his  sinful  acts,  and  not  for  his 
sinful  nature,  can  only  be  justified  by  a  personal 
holiness,  consisting  not  so  much  in  legal  obedience 
as  in  that  disinterested  benevolence  which  prefers 
the  glory  of  God  and  the  welfare  of  universal  being 
above  the  happiness  of  self.  It  had  the  merit,  what 
ever  it  may  be,  of  reducing  the  doctrines  of  the 
Reformation  to  an  ingenious  and  scholastic  form  of 
theology;  of  bringing  them  boldly  to  the  test  of 
reason  and  philosophy.  Its  leading  advocates  were 
not  mere  heartless  reasoners  and  closet  speculators. 
They  taught  that  sin  was  selfishness,  and  holiness 
self-denying  benevolence,  and  they  endeavored  to 
practice  accordingly.  Their  lives  recommended 
their  doctrines.  They  were  bold  and  faithful  in  the 
discharge  of  what  they  regarded  as  duty.  In  the 
midst  of  slave-holders,  and  in  an  age  of  comparative 
darkness  on  the  subject  of  human  rights,  Hopkins 
and  the  younger  Edwards  lifted  up  their  voices  for 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS.  137 

the  slave.  And  twelve  years  ago,  when  Abolition 
ism  was  everywhere  spoken  against,  and  the  whole 
land  was  convulsed  with  mobs  to  suppress  it,  the 
venerable  Emmons,  burdened  with  the  weight  of 
ninety  years,  made  a  journey  to  New  York,  to  at 
tend  a  meeting  of  the  Anti-Slavery  Society.  Let 
those  who  condemn  the  creed  of  these  men  see  to  it 
that  they  do  not  fall  behind  them  in  practical 
righteousness  and  faithfulness  to  the  convictions  of 
duty. 

Samuel  Hopkins,  who  gave  his  name  to  the  re 
ligious  system  in  question,  was  born  in  Water- 
bury,  Conn.,  in  1721.  In  his  fifteenth  year  he  was 
placed  under  the  care  of  a  neighboring  clergyman, 
preparatory  for  college,  which  he  entered  about  a 
year  after.  In  1740,  the  celebrated  Whitefield  vis 
ited  New  Haven,  and  awakened  there,  as  elsewhere, 
serious  inquiry  on  religious  subjects.  He  was  fol 
lowed  the  succeeding  spring  by  Gilbert  Tennent, 
the  New  Jersey  revivalist,  a  stirring  and  powerful 
preacher.  A  great  change  took  place  in  the  college. 
All  the  phenomena  which  President  Edwards  has 
described  in  his  account  of  the  Northampton  awak 
ening  were  reproduced  among  the  students.  The 
excellent  David  Brainard,  then  a  member  of  the 
college,  visited  Hopkins  in  his  apartment,  and,  by  a 
few  plain  and  earnest  words,  convinced  him  that  he 
was  a  stranger  to  vital  Christianity.  In  his  auto 
biographical  sketch,  he  describes  in  simple  and 
affecting  language  the  dark  and  desolate  state  of 
his  mind  at  this  period,  and  the  particular  exercise 


I38  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

which  finally  afforded  him  some  degree  of  relief,  and 
which  he  afterward  appears  to  have  regarded  as  his 
conversion  from  spiritual  death  to  life.  When  he 
first  heard  Tennent,  regarding  him  as  the  greatest 
as  well  as  the  best  of  men,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
study  theology  with  him  ;  but  just  before  the  com 
mencement  at  which  he  was  to  take  his  degree,  the 
elder  Edwards  preached  at  New  Haven.  Struck  by 
the  power  of  the  great  theologian,  he  at  once  re 
solved  to  make  him  his  spiritual  father.  In  the 
winter  following,  he  left  his  father's  house  on  horse 
back,  on  a  journey  of  eighty  miles  to  Northampton. 
Arriving  at  the  house  of  President  Edwards,  he  was 
disappointed  by  hearing  that  he  was  absent  on  a 
preaching  tour.  But  he  was  kindly  received  by  the 
gifted  and  accomplished  lady  of  the  mansion,  and 
encouraged  to  remain  during  the  winter.  Still 
doubtful  in  respect  to  his  own  spiritual  state,  he 
was,  he  says,  "very  gloomy,  and  retired  most  of  the 
time  in  his  chamber."  The  kind  heart  of  his  amiable 
hostess  was  touched  by  his  evident  affliction.  After 
some  days  she  came  to  his  chamber,  and,  with  the 
gentleness  and  delicacy  of  a  true  woman,  inquired 
into  the  cause  of  his  unhappiness.  The  young 
student  disclosed  to  her,  without  reserve,  the  state 
of  his  feelings  and  the  extent  of  his  fears.  "  She 
told  me,"  says  the  doctor,  "  that  she  had  had 
peculiar  exercises  respecting  me  since  I  had  b^en 
in  the  family ;  that  she  trusted  I  should  receive 
light  and  comfort,  and  doubted  not  that  God  in- 
tended  yet  to  do  great  things  by  me." 


SAMUEL   HOPKINS.  139 

After  pursuing  his  studies  for  some  months  with 
the  Puritan  philosopher,  young  Hopkins  com 
menced  preaching,  and,  in  1743,  was  ordained  at 
Sheffield  (now  Great  Barrington),  in  the  western 
part  of  Massachusetts.  There  were  at  the  time  only 
about  thirty  families  in  the  town.  He  says  it  was  a 
matter  of  great  regret  to  him  to  be  obliged  to  settle 
so  far  from  his  spiritual  guide  and  tutor ;  but  seven 
years  after  he  was  relieved  and  gratified  by  the  re 
moval  of  Edwards  to  Stockbridge,  as  the  Indian 
missionary  at  that  station,  seven  miles  only  from 
his  own  residence ;  and  for  several  years  the  great 
metaphysician  and  his  favorite  pupil  enjoyed  the 
privilege  of  familiar  intercourse  with  each  other. 
The  removal  of  the  former  in  1758  to  Princeton, 
New  Jersey,  and  his  death,  which  soon  followed, 
are  mentioned  in  the  diary  of  Hopkins  as  sore  trials 
and  afflictive  dispensations. 

Obtaining  a  dismissal  from  his  society  in  Great 
Barrington  in  1769,  he  was  installed  at  Newport  the 
next  year  as  minister  of  the  First  Congregational 
Church  in  that  place.  Newport,  at  this  period 
was,  in  size,  wealth,  and  commercial  importance, 
the  second  town  in  New  England.  It  was  the  great 
slave-mart  of  the  North.  Vessels  loaded  with  stolen 
men  and  women  and  children,  consigned  to  its 
merchant  princes,  lay  at  its  wharves ;  immortal 
beings  were  sold  daily  at  its  market,  like  cattle  at  a 
fair.  The  soul  of  Hopkins  was  moved  by  the  ap 
palling  spectacle.  A  strong  conviction  of  the  great 
wrong  of  slavery,  and  of  its  utter  incompatibility 


14°  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

with  the  Christian  profession,  seized  upon  his  mind. 
While  at  Great  Barrington,  he  had  himself  owned  a 
slave,  whom  he  had  sold  on  leaving  the  place,  with 
out  compunction  or  suspicion  in  regard  to  the  right- 
fulness  of  the  transaction.  He  now  saw  the  origin 
of  the  system  in  its  true  light ;  he  heard  the  seamen 
engaged  in  the  African  trade  tell  of  the  horrible 
scenes  of  fire  and  blood  which  they  had  witnessed, 
and  in  which  they  had  been  actors;  he  saw  the 
half-suffocated  wretches  brought  up  from  their 
noisome  and  narrow  prison,  their  squalid  counte 
nances  and  skeleton  forms  bearing  fearful  evidence 
of  the  suffering  attendant  upon  the  transportation 
from  their  native  homes.  The  demoralizing  effects 
of  slaveholding  everywhere  forced  themselves  upon 
his  attention,  for  the  evil  had  struck  its  roots  deeply 
in  the  community,  and  there  were  few  families  into 
which  it  had  not  penetrated.  The  right  to  deal  in 
slaves,  and  use  them  as  articles  of  property,  was 
questioned  by  no  one ;  men  of  all  professions, 
clergymen  and  church  members,  consulted  only 
their  interest  and  convenience  as  to  their  purchase 
or  sale.  The  magnitude  of  the  evil  at  first  appalled 
him  ;  he  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  condemn  it,  but  for 
a  time  even  his  strong  spirit  faltered  and  turned 
pale  in  contemplation  of  the  consequences  to  be 
apprehended  from  an  attack  upon  it.  Slavery  and 
slave  trading  were  at  that  time  the  principal  source 
of  wealth  to  the  island ;  his  own  church  and  congre 
gation  were  personally  interested  in  the  traffic  ;  all 
were  implicated  in  its  guilt.  He  stood  alone,  as  it 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS.  I41 

were,  in  its  condemnation  ;  with  here  and  there  an 
exception,  all  Christendom  maintained  the  rightful- 
ness  of  slavery.  No  movement  had  yet  been  made 
in  England  against  the  slave  trade :  the  decision  of 
Granville  Sharp's  Somerset  case  had  not  yet  taken 
place.  The  Quakers,  even,  had  not  at  that  time  re 
deemed  themselves  from  the  opprobrium.  Under 
these  circumstances,  after  a  thorough  examination 
of  the  subject,  he  resolved,  in  the  strength  of  the 
Lord,  to  take  his  stand  openly  and  decidedly  on  the 
side  of  humanity.  He  prepared  a  sermon  for  the 
purpose,  and  for  the  first  time,  from  a  pulpit  of  New 
England,  was  heard  an  emphatic  testimony  against 
the  sin  of  slavery.  In  contrast  with  the  unselfish 
and  disinterested  benevolence  which  formed  in  his 
siind  the  essential  element  of  Christian  holiness,  he 
held  up  the  act  of  reducing  human  beings  to  the 
condition  of  brutes,  to  minister  to  the  convenience, 
the  luxury,  and  lusts  of  the  owner.  He  had  ex 
pected  bitter  complaint  and  opposition  from  his 
hearers,  but  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  that  in 
most  cases  his  sermon  only  excited  astonishment  in 
their  minds  that  they  themselves  had  never  before 
looked  at  the  subject  in  the  light  in  which  he  pre 
sented  it.  Steadily  and  faithfully  pursuing  the 
matter,  he  had  the  satisfaction  to  carry  with  him  his 
church,  and  obtain  from  it,  in  the  midst  of  a  slave- 
holding  and  slave-trading  community,  a  resolution 
every  way  worthy  of  note  in  this  day  of  cowardly 
compromise  with  the  evil,  on  the  part  of  our  lead 
ing  ecclesiastical  bodies : 


I42  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

"Resolved,  That  the  slave  trade  and  the  slavery 
of  the  Africans,  as  it  has  existed  among  us,  is  a 
gross  violation  of  the  righteousness  and  benevolence 
which  are  so  much  inculcated  in  the  Gospel,  and, 
therefore,  we  will  not  tolerate  it  in  this  church" 

There  are  few  instances  on  record  of  moral  heroism 
superior  to  that  of  Samuel  Hopkins  in  thus  rebuking 
slavery  in  the  time  and  place  of  its  power.  Honor 
to  the  true  man  ever,  who  takes  his  life  in  his 
hands,  and,  at  all  hazards,  speaks  the  word  which  is 
given  him  to  utter,  whether  men  will  hear  or  for 
bear,  whether  the  end  thereof  is  to  be  praise  or  cen 
sure,  gratitude  or  hatred.  It  well  may  be  doubted, 
whether,  on  that  Sabbath  day,  the  angels  of  God,  in 
their  wide  survey  of  His  universe,  looked  upon  a 
nobler  spectacle  than  that  of  the  minister  of  New 
port,  rising  up  before  his  slaveholding  congrega 
tion  and  demanding,  in  the  name  of  the  Highest,  the 
"  deliverance  of  the  captive  and  the  opening  of 
prison  doors  to  them  that  were  bound." 

Dr.  Hopkins  did  not  confine  his  attention  solely 
to  slaveholding  in  his  own  church  and  congregation. 
He  entered  into  correspondence  with  the  early  Ab 
olitionists  of  Europe,  as  well  as  his  own  country. 
He  labored  with  his  brethren  in  the  ministry  to 
bring  them  to  his  own  view  of  the  great  wrong  of 
holding  men  as  slaves.  In  a  visit  to  his  early 
friend,  Dr.  Bellamy,  at  Bethlehem,  who  was  the 
owner  of  a  slave,  he  pressed  the  subject  kindly  but 
earnestly  upon  his  attention.  Dr.  Bellamy  urged 


SAMUEL   HOPKINS.  1 43 

the  usual  arguments  in  favor  of  slavery.  Dr.  Hop 
kins  refuted  them  in  the  most  successful  manner, 
and  called  upon  his  friend  to  do  an  act  of  simple 
justice,  in  giving  immediate  freedom  to  his  slave. 
Dr.  Bellamy,  thus  hardly  pressed,  said  that  the  slave 
was  a  most  judicious  and  faithful  fellow;  that,  in 
the  management  of  his  farm,  he  could  trust  every 
thing  to  his  discretion  ;  that  he  treated  him  well, 
and  he  was  so  happy  in  his  service  that  he  would  re 
fuse  his  freedom  if  it  were  offered  him. 

"Will  you,"  said  Hopkins,  "  consent  to  his  liber 
ation,  if  he  really  desires  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  said  Dr.  Bellamy. 

"  Then  let  us  try  him,"  said  his  guest. 

The  slave  was  at  work  in  an  adjoining  field,  and 
at  the  call  of  his  master  came  promptly  to  receive 
his  commands. 

"Have  you  a  good  master?"  inquired  Hopkins. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  massa,  he  berry  good." 

"  But  are  you  happy  in  your  present  condition  ?  " 
queried  the  Doctor. 

"  Oh,  yes,  massa  ;  berry  happy." 

Dr.  Bellamy  here  could  scarcely  suppress  his  ex- 
ultation  at  what  he  supposed  was  a  complete 
triumph  over  his  anti-slavery  brother.  But  the 
pertinacious  guest  continued  his  queries. 

"  Would  you  not  be  more  happy  if  you  were 
free?" 

"  O,  yes,  massa,"  exclaimed  the  negro,  his  dark 
face  glowing  with  new  life;  "berry  much  more 
happy  !  " 


144  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

To  the  honor  of  Dr.  Bellamy,  he  did  not  hesitate. 

"You  have  your  wish,'*  he  said  to  his  servant. 
"  From  this  moment  you  are  free." 

Dr.  Hopkins  was  a  poor  man,  but  one  of  his  first 
acts,  after  becoming  convinced  of  the  wrongfulness 
of  slavery,  was  to  appropriate  the  very  sum  which, 
in  the  days  of  his  ignorance,  he  had  obtained  as  the 
price  of  his  slave,  to  the  benevolent  purpose  of  edu 
cating  some  pious  colored  men  in  the  town  of  New 
port,  who  were  desirous  of  returning  to  their  native 
country  as  missionaries.  In  one  instance  he  bor 
rowed,  on  his  own  responsibility,  the  sum  requisite 
to  secure  the  freedom  of  a  slave  in  whom  he 
became  interested.  One  of  his  theological  pupils 
was  Newport  Gardner,  who,  twenty  years  after  the 
death  of  his  kind  patron,  left  Boston  as  a  missionary 
to  Africa.  He  was  a  native  African,  and  was  held 
by  Captain  Gardner,  of  Newport,  who  allowed  him 
to  labor  for  his  own  benefit,  whenever  by  extra 
diligence  he  could  gain  a  little  time  for  that  pur 
pose.  The  poor  fellow  was  in  the  habit  of  laying 
up  his  small  earnings  on  these  occasions,  in  the 
faint  hope  of  one  day  obtaining  thereby  the  freedom 
of  himself  and  his  family.  But  time  passed  on,  and 
the  hoard  of  purchase  money  still  looked  sadly 
small.  He  concluded  to  try  the  efficacy  of  praying. 
Having  gained  a  day  for  himself,  by  severe  labor, 
and  communicating  his  plan  only  to  Dr.  Hopkins 
and  t\ro  or  three  other  Christian  friends,  he  shut 
himself  up  in  his  humble  dwelling,  and  spent  the 
t;me  in  prayer  for  freedom.  Toward  the  close  of 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS.  145 

the  day,  his  master  sent  for  him.  He  was  told  that 
this  was  his  gained  time,  and  that  he  was  engaged 
for  himself.  .  "  No  matter,"  returned  the  master,  "  I 
must  see  him."  Poor  Newport  reluctantly  aban 
doned  his  supplications,  and  came  at  his  master's 
bidding,  when,  to  his  astonishment,  instead  of  a 
reprimand,  he  received  a  paper,  signed  by  his 
master,  declaring  him  and  his  family  from  thence 
forth  free.  He  justly  attributed  this  signal  blessing 
to  the  all-wise  Disposer,  who  turns  the  hearts  of 
men  as  the  rivers  of  water  are  turned  ;  but  it  can 
not  be  doubted  that  the  labors  and  arguments  of 
Dr.  Hopkins  with  his  master  were  the  human  in 
strumentality  in  effecting  it. 

In  the  year  1773,  in  connection  with  Dr.  Ezra 
Stiles,  he  issued  an  appeal  to  the  Christian  commu 
nity  in  behalf  of  the  society  which  he  had  been  in 
strumental  in  forming,  for  the  purpose  of  educating 
missionaries  for  Africa.  In  the  desolate  and  be 
nighted  condition  of  that  unhappy  continent,  he  had 
become  painfully  interested,  by  conversing  with  the 
slaves  brought  into  Newport.  Another  appeal  was 
made  on  the  subject  in  1776. 

The  war  of  the  Revolution  interrupted,  for  a 
time,  the  philanthropic  plans  of  Dr.  Hopkins.  The 
beautiful  island  on  which  he  lived  was  at  an  early 
period  exposed  to  the  exactions  and  devastations  of 
the  enemy.  All  who  could  do  so,  left  it  for  the 
mainland.  Its  wharves  were  no  longer  thronged 
with  merchandise;  its  principal  dwellings  stood 
empty  ;  the  very  meeting-houses  were  in  a  great 


146  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

measure  abandoned.  Dr.  Hopkins,  who  had  taken 
the  precaution,  at  the  commencement  of  hostilities^ 
to  remove  his  family  to  Great  Barrington,  remained 
himself  until  the  year  1776,  when  the  British  took 
possession  of  the  island.  During  the  period  of  its 
occupation,  he  was  employed  in  preaching  to  desti 
tute  congregations.  He  spent  the  summer  of  1777 
at  Newburyport,  where  his  memory  is  still  cherished 
by  the  few  of  his  hearers  who  survive.  In  the  spring 
of  1780,  he  returned  to  Newport.  Everything  had 
undergone  a  melancholy  change.  The  garden  of 
New  England  lay  desolate.  His  once  prosperous 
and  wealthy  church  and  congregation  were  now 
poor,  dispirited,  and,  worst  of  all,  demoralized.  His 
meeting-house  had  been  used  as  a  barrack  for  sol 
diers  ;  pulpit  and  pews  had  been  destroyed;  the 
very  bell  had  been  stolen.  Refusing,  with  his  char 
acteristic  denial  of  self,  a  call  to  settle  in  a  more  ad 
vantageous  position,  he  sat  himself  down  once  more 
in  the  midst  of  his  reduced  and  impoverished  pa- 
rishoners,  and,  with  no  regular  salary,  dependent  en 
tirely  on  such  free-will  offerings  as  from  time  to 
time  were  made  him,  he  remained  with  them  until 
his  death. 

In  1776  Dr.  Hopkins  published  his  celebrated 
"  Dialogue  concerning  the  Slavery  of  the  Africans ; 
showing  it  to  be  the  Duty  and  Interest  of  the  Ameri 
can  States  to  Emancipate  all  their  Slaves."  This 
he  dedicated  to  the  Continental  Congress,  the 
Signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  It 
was  republished  in  1785,  by  the  New  York  Aboli- 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS.  147 

tion  Society,  and  was  widely  circulated.  A  few 
years  after,  on  coming  unexpectedly  into  possession 
of  a  few  hundred  dollars,  he  devoted  immediately 
one  hundred  of  it  to  the  society  for  ameliorating  the 
condition  of  the  Africans. 

He  continued  to  preach  until  he  had  reached  his 
eighty-third  year.  His  last  sermon  was  delivered  on 
the  sixteenth  of  the  loth  month,  1803,  and  his  death 
took  place  in  the  I2th  month  following.  He  died 
calmly,  in  the  steady  faith  of  one  who  had  long 
trusted  all  things  in  the  hand  of  God.  "The  lan 
guage  of  my  heart  is,"  said  he,  "  let  God  be  glorified 
by  all  things,  and  the  best  interest  of  His  kingdom 
promoted,  whatever  becomes  of  me  or  my  interest." 
To  a  young  friend,  who  visited  him  three  days  be 
fore  his  death,  he  said,  "  I  am  feeble,  and  cannot 
say  much.  I  have  said  all  I  can  say.  With  my 
last  words,  I  tell  you,  religion  is  the  one  thing  need 
ful."  "And  now,"  he  continued,  affectionately 
pressing  the  hand  of  his  friend,  "  I  am  going  to  die, 
and  I  am  glad  of  it."  Many  years  before  an  agree 
ment  had  been  made  between  Dr.  Hopkins  and  his 
old  and  tried  friend,  Dr.  Hart,  of  Connecticut,  that 
when  either  was  called  home,  the  survivor  should 
preach  the  funeral  sermon  of  the  deceased.  The 
venerable  Dr.  Hart  accordingly  came,  true  to  his 
promise,  preaching  at  the  funeral  from  the  words  of 
Elisha,  "My  father,  my  father;  the  chariots  of 
Israel,  and  the  horsemen  thereof."  In  the  burial- 
ground  adjoining  his  meeting-house  lies  all  that  was 
mortal  of  Samuel  Hopkins. 


1 48  POR  TRA ITS  A ND  SKE  TCHES. 

One  of  Dr.  Hopkins' s  habitual  hearers,  and  who 
has  borne  grateful  testimony  to  the  beauty  and 
holiness  of  his  life  and  conversation,  was  WILLIAM 
ELLERY  CHANNING.  Widely  as  he  afterward 
diverged  from  the  creed  of  his  early  teacher,  it  con 
tained  at  least  one  doctrine  to  the  influence  of  which 
the  philanthropic  devotion  of  his  own  life  to  the 
welfare  of  man  bears  witness.  He  says  himself  that 
there  always  seemed  to  him  something  very  noble 
in  the  doctrine  of  disinterested  benevolence,  the 
casting  of  self  aside,  and  doing  good  irrespective  of 
personal  consequences,  in  this  world  or  another, 
upon  which  Dr.  Hopkins  so  strongly  insisted,  as  the 
all-essential  condition  of  holiness. 

How  widely  apart,  as  mere  theologians,  stood 
Hopkins  and  Channing  !  Yet  how  harmonious  their 
lives  and  practice  !  Both  could  forget  the  poor  in 
terests  of  self,  in  view  of  eternal  right  and  universal 
humanity.  Both  could  appreciate  the  saving  truth, 
that  love  to  God  and  His  creation  is  the  fulfilling  of 
the  Divine  law.  The  idea  of  unselfish  benevolence, 
which  they  held  in  common,  clothed  with  sweetness 
and  beauty  the  stern  and  repulsive  features  of  the 
theology  of  Hopkins,  and  infused  a  sublime  spirit 
of  self-sacrifice  and  a  glowing  humanity  into  the 
indecisive  and  less  robust  faith  of  Channing.  What 
is  the  lesson  of  this,  but  that  Christianity  consists 
rather  in  the  affections  than  in  the  intellect  ;  that  it 
is  a  life,  rather  than  a  creed ;  and  that  they  who 
diverge  the  widest  from  each  other  in  speculation 
upon  its  doctrines,  may,  after  all,  be  found  work- 


SAMUEL  HOPKINS.  149 

ing  side   by  side    on  the    common    ground    of   its 
practice. 

We  have  chosen  to  speak  of  Dr.  Hopkins  as  a 
philanthropist,  rather  than  as  a  theologian.  Let 
those  who  prefer  to  contemplate  the  narrow  secta 
rian,  rather  than  the  universal  man,  dwell  upon  his 
controversial  works,  and  extol  the  ingenuity  and 
logical  acumen  with  which  he  defended  his  own 
dogmas  and  assailed  those  of  others.  We  honor 
him,  not  as  the  founder  of  a  new  sect,  but  as  the 
friend  of  all  mankind  ;  the  generous  defender  of 
the  poor  and  oppressed.  Great  as  unquestionably 
were  his  powers  of  argument,  his  learning,  and  skill 
in  the  use  of  the  weapons  of  theological  warfare  ; 
these  by  no  means  constitute  his  highest  title  to 
respect  and  reverence.  As  the  product  of  an  honest 
and  earnest  mind,  his  doctrinal  dissertations  have 
at  least  the  merit  of  sincerity.  They  were  put  forth 
in  behalf  of  what  he  regarded  as  truth  ;  and  the  suc 
cess  which  they  met  with,  while  it  called  into  exer 
cise  his  profoundest  gratitude,  only  served  to  deepen 
the  humility  and  self-abasement  of  their  author. 
As  the  utterance  of  what  a  good  man  believed  and 
felt,  as  a  part  of  the  history  of  a  life  remarkable  for 
its  consecration  to  apprehended  duty,  these  writings 
cannot  be  without  interest  even  to  those  who  dis 
sent  from  their  arguments,  and  deny  their  assump 
tions.  But  in  the  time,  now,  we  trust,  near  at  hand, 
when  distracted  and  divided  Christendom  shall  unite 
in  a  new  Evangelical  union,  in  which  orthodoxy  in 
life  and  practice  shall  be  estimated  above  orthodoxy 


ISO  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

in  theory,  he  will  be  honored  as  a  good  man,  rather 
than  as  a  successful  creed-maker;  as  a  friend  of  the 
oppressed,  and  the  fearless  rebuker  of  popular  sin, 
rather  than  as  the  champion  of  a  protracted  secta 
rian  war.  Even  now  his  writings,  so  popular  in 
their  day,  are  little  known.  The  time  may  come 
when  no  pilgrim  of  sectarianism  shall  visit  his  grave. 
But  his  memory  will  live  in  the  hearts  of  the  good 
and  generous ;  the  emancipated  slave  shall  kneel 
over  his  ashes,  and  bless  God  for  the  gift  to  human 
ity  of  a  life  so  devoted  to  its  welfare.  To  him  may 
be  applied  the  language  of  one  who,  on  the  spot 
where  he  labored  and  laid  down  to  rest,  while  re 
jecting  the  doctrinal  views  of  the  theologian,  still 
cherishes  the  philanthropic  spirit  of  the  man  : 

He  is  not  lost — he  hath  not  passed  away — 

Clouds,  earths,  may  pass — but  stars  shine  calmly  on  ; 

And  he  who  doth  the  will  of  God,  for  aye 

Abideth,  when  the  earth  and  heaven  are  gone  ; 

Alas  !  that  such  a  heart  is  in  the  grave ! 

Thanks  for  the  life  that  now  shall  never  end  ! 
Weep  and  rejoice,  thou  terror-hunted  slave ! 

That  hast  both  lost  and  found  so  great  a  friend ! 


RICHARD    BAXTER. 


THE  picture  drawn  by  a  late  English  historian  of 
the  infamous  Jeffreys,  in  his  judicial  robes,  sitting 
in  judgment  upon  the  venerable  Richard  Baxter, 
brought  before  him  to  answer  to  an  indictment 
setting  forth  that  the  said  "  Richardus  Baxter, 
persona  seditiosa  et  factiosa  pravae  mentis,  impiae, 
inquietae,  turbulent  disposition  et  conversation  ; 
falso  illicte,  injuste  nequit  factiose  seditiose,  et  irre- 
ligiose,  fecit,  composuit,  scripsit  quendam  falsum, 
seditiosum,  libellosum,  factiosum  et  irreligiosum 
librum,"  is  so  remarkable,  that  the  attention  of  the 
most  careless  reader  is  at  once  arrested.  Who  was 
that  old  man,  wasted  with  disease,  and  ghastly  with 
the  pallor  of  imprisonment,  upon  whom  the  foul- 
mouthed  buffoon  in  ermine  exhausted  his  vocabu^ 
lary  of  abuse  and  ridicule  ?  Who  was  Richardus 
Baxter? 

The  author  of  works  so  elaborate  and  profound  as 
to  frighten,  by  their  very  titles  and  ponderous  folios, 
the  modern  ecclesiastical  student  from  their  perusal 
his  hold  upon  the  present  generation  is  limited  to  a 
few  practical  treatises,  which,  from  their  very  nature, 
can  never  become  obsolete.  The  "  Call  to  the 
Unconverted,"  and  "  The  Saints'  Everlasting  Rest,'* 


IS2  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

belong  to  no  time  or  sect.  They  speak  the  universal 
language  of  the  wants  and  desires  of  the  human 
soul.  They  take  hold  of  the  awful  verities  of  life 
and  death,  righteousness  and  judgment  to  come. 
Through  them  the  suffering  and  hunted  minister  of 
Kidderminster  has  spoken  in  warning,  entreaty,  and 
rebuke,  or  in  tones  of  tenderest  love  and  pity,  to 
the  hearts  of  the  generations  which  have  succeeded 
him.  His  controversial  works,  his  confessions  of 
faith,  his  learned  disputations,  and  his  profound 
doctrinal  treatises  are  no  longer  read.  Their  author 
himself,  toward  the  close  of  his  life,  anticipated,  in 
respect  to  these  favorite  productions,  the  children 
of  his  early  zeal,  labor,  and  suffering,  the  judgment 
of  posterity.  "  I  perceive,"  he  says,  "that  most  of 
the  doctrinal  controversies  among  Protestants  are 
far  more  about  equivocal  words  than  matter.  Ex 
perience  since  the  year  1643,  to  this  year,  1675,  hath 
loudly  called  me  to  repent  of  my  own  prejudices, 
sidings,  and  censurings  of  causes  and  persons  not 
understood,  and  of  all  the  miscarriages  of  my  minis 
try  and  life  which  have  been  thereby  caused ;  and  to 
make  it  my  chief  work  to  call  men  that  are  within 
my  hearing  to  more  peaceable  thoughts,  affections, 
and  practices." 

Richard  Baxter  was  born  at  the  village  of  Eton 
Constantine,  in  1615.  He  received  from  officiating 
curates  of  the  little  church  such  literary  instruc 
tion  as  could  be  given  by  men  who  had  left  the 
farmer's  flail,  the  tailor's  thimble,  and  the  service  of 
strolling  stage-players,  to  perform  church  drudgery 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  153 

under  the  Parish  incumbent,  who  was  old  and  well 
nigh  blind.  At  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  was  sent  to  a 
school  at  Wroxeter,  where  he  spent  three  years,  to 
little  purpose,  so  far  as  a  scientific  education  was 
concerned.  His  teacher  left  him  to  himself  mainly, 
and  following  the  bent  of  his  mind,  even  at  that 
early  period,  he  abandoned  the  exact  sciences  for 
the  perusal  of  such  controversial  and  metaphysical 
writings  of  the  schoolmen  as  his  master's  library 
afforded.  The  smattering  of  Latin  which  he  ac 
quired  only  served  in  after  years  to  deform  his 
treatises  with  barbarous,  ill-adapted,  and  erroneous 
citations.  "  As  to  myself,"  said  he,  in  his  letter 
written  in  old  age  to  Anthony  Wood,  who  had  in 
quired  whether  he  was  an  Oxonian  graduate,  "my 
faults  are  no  disgrace  to  a  university,  for  I  was  of 
none;  I  have  but  little  but  what  I  had  out  of  books, 
and  inconsiderable  help  of  country  divines.  Weak 
ness  and  pain  helped  me  to  study  how  to  die ;  that 
set  me  a-studying  how  to  live  ;  and  that  on  studying 
the  doctrine  from  which  I  must  fetch  my  motives 
and  comforts;  beginning  with  necessities,  I  pro 
ceeded  by  degrees,  and  am  now  going  to  see  that 
for  which  I  have  lived  and  studied." 

Of  the  first  essays  of  the  young  theologian  as  a 
preacher  of  the  established  Church,  his  early  suffer 
ings  from  that  complicity  of  diseases  with  which  his 
whole  life  was  tormented,  of  the  still  keener  afflic 
tions  of  a  mind  whose  entire  outlook  upon  life  and 
nature  was  discolored  and  darkened  by  its  disordered 
bodily  medium,  and  of  the  struggles  between  his 


154  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Puritan  temperament  and  his  reverence  for  Episcopal 
formulas,  much  might  be  profitably  said,  did  the 
limits  we  have  assigned  ourselves  admit.  Nor  can 
we  do  more  than  briefly  allude  to  the  religious  doubts 
and  difficulties  which  darkened  and  troubled  his 
mind  at  an  early  period.  He  tells  us  at  length  in  his 
"  Life,"  how  he  struggled  with  these  spiritual  in 
firmities  and  temptations.  The  future  life,  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the  truth  of  the  Scrip 
tures,  were  by  turns  questioned.  "  I  never,"  says 
he,  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  More,  inserted  in  the  Sadducisi- 
mus  Triumphatus,  "  had  so  much  ado  to  overcome  a 
temptation  as  that  to  the  opinion  of  Averroes,  that, 
as  extinguished  candles  go  all  out  in  an  illuminated 
air,  so  separated  souls  go  all  into  one  common  anima 
mundi,  and  lose  their  individuation."  With  these 
and  similar  "temptations "  Baxter  struggled  long, 
earnestly,  and  in  the  end  triumphantly.  His  faith, 
when  once  established,  remained  unshaken  to  the 
last ;  and  although  always  solemn,  reverential,  and 
deeply  serious,  he  was  never  the  subject  of  religious 
melancholy,  or  of  that  mournful  depression  of  soul 
which  arises  from  despair  of  an  interest  in  the  mercy 
and  paternal  love  of  our  common  Father. 

The  Great  Revolution  found  him  settled  as  a 
minister  in  Kidderminster,  under  the  sanction  of  a 
drunken  vicar,  who,  yielding  to  the  clamor  of  his 
more  sober  parishioners,  and  his  fear  of  their  appeal 
to  the  Long  Parliament,  then  busy  in  its  task  of  abat 
ing  church  nuisances,  had  agreed  to  give  him  sixty 
pounds  per  year,  in  the  place  of  a  poor,  tippling 


RICHARD   BAXTER.  155 

curate,  notorious  as  a  common  railer  and  pot-house 
incumbrance. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  the  sharp  contrast 
which  the  earnest,  devotional  spirit  and  painful 
strictness  of  Baxter  presented  to  the  irreverent 
license  and  careless  good  humor  of  his  predecessor, 
by  no  means  commended  him  to  the  favor  of  a  large 
class  of  his  parishioners.  Sabbath  merry-makers 
missed  the  rubicund  face  and  maudlin  jollity  of 
their  old  vicar  ;  the  ignorant  and  vicious  disliked 
the  new  preacher's  rigid  morality  ;  the  better  in 
formed  revolted  at  his  harsh  doctrines,  austere  life, 
and  grave  manner.  Intense  earnestness  character 
ized  all  his  efforts.  Contrasting  human  nature  with 
the  Infinite  Purity  and  Holiness,  he  was  oppressed 
with  a  sense  of  the  loathsomeness  and  deformity  of 
sin,  and  afflicted  by  the  misery  of  his  fellow-crea 
tures  separated  from  the  Divine  harmony.  He 
tells  us  that  at  this  period  he  preached  the  terrors 
of  the  Law,  and  the  necessity  of  Repentance,  rather 
than  the  joys  and  consolations  of  the  Gospel,  upon 
which  he  so  loved  to  dwell  in  his  last  years.  He 
seems  to  have  felt  a  necessity  laid  upon  him  to 
startle  men  from  false  hope  and  security,  and  to 
call  for  holiness  of  life  and  conformity  to  the  Divine 
will  as  the  only  ground  of  safety.  Powerful  and 
impressive  as  are  the  appeals  and  expostulations 
contained  in  his  written  works,  they  probably  con 
vey  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  force  and  earnestness 
of  those  which  he  poured  forth  from  his  pulpit.  As 
he  advanced  in  years,  these  appeals  were  less  fre- 


I56  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

quently  addressed  to  the  fears  of  his  auditors,  for 
he  had  learned  to  value  a  calm  and  consistent  life 
of  practical  goodness  beyond  any  passionate  exhi 
bition  of  terrors,  fervors,  and  transports.  Having 
witnessed,  in  an  age  of  remarkable  enthusiasm  and 
spiritual  awakening,  the  ill  effects  of  passional  ex 
citements  and  religious  melancholy,  he  endeavored 
to  present  cheerful  views  of  Christian  life  and  duty, 
and  made  it  a  special  object  to  repress  morbid 
imaginations  and  heal  diseased  consciences.  Thus 
it  came  to  pass  that  no  man  of  his  day  was  more 
often  applied  to  for  counsel  and  relief,  by  persons 
laboring  under  mental  depression,  than  himself.  He 
has  left  behind  him  a  very  curious  and  not  unin- 
structive  discourse,  which  he  entitled  "  The  Cure  of 
Melancholy,  by  Faith  and  Physick,"  in  which  he 
shows  a  great  degree  of  skill  in  his  morbid  mental 
anatomy.  He  had  studied  medicine  to  some  ex 
tent  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor  of  his  parish,  and 
knew  something  of  the  intimate  relations  and  sym 
pathy  of  the  body  and  mind  ;  he  therefore  did  not 
hesitate  to  ascribe  many  of  the  spiritual  complaints 
of  his  applicants  to  disordered  bodily  functions ; 
nor  to  prescribe  pills  and  powders  in  the  place  of 
Scripture  texts.  More  than  thirty  years  after  the 
commencement  of  his  labors  at  Kidderminster  he 
thus  writes  :  "  I  was  troubled  this  year  with  multi 
tudes  of  melancholy  persons  from  several  places  of 
the  land  ;  some  of  high  quality,  some  of  low,  some 
exquisitely  learned,  and  some  unlearned.  I  know 
not  how  it  came  to  pass,  but  if  men  fell  melancholy 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  15? 

I  must  hear  from  them  or  see  them  ;  more  than  any 
physician  I  knew."  He  cautions  against  ascribing 
melancholy  phantasms  and  passions  to  the  Holy 
Spirit,  warns  the  young  against  licentious  imagina 
tions  and  excitements,  and  ends  by  advising  all  to 
take  heed  how  they  make  of  religion  a  matter  of 
"  fears,  tears,  and  scruples."  "  True  religion,"  he 
remarks,  "  doth  principally  consist  in  obedience, 
love,  and  joy." 

At  this  early  period  of  his  ministry,  however,  he 
had  all  of  Whitefield's  intensity  and  fervor,  added 
to  reasoning  powers  greatly  transcending  those  of 
the  revivalist  of  the  next  century.  Young  in  years, 
he  was  even  then  old  in  bodily  infirmity  and  mental 
experience.  Believing  himself  the  victim  of  a  mor- 
tal  disease,  he  lived  and  preached  in  the  constant 
prospect  of  death.  His  memento  mori  was  in  his 
bedchamber,  and  sat  by  him  at  his  frugal  meal. 
The  glory  of  the  world  was  stained  to  his  vision. 
He  was  blind  to  the  beauty  of  all  its  "  pleasant  pic 
tures."  No  monk  of  Mount  Athos,  or  silent  Char 
treuse,  no  anchorite  of  Indian  superstition,  ever 
more  completely  mortified  the  flesh,  or  turned  his 
back  more  decidedly  upon  the  "good  things"  of 
this  life.  A  solemn  and  funereal  atmosphere  sur 
rounded  him.  He  walked  in  the  shadows  of  the 
cypress,  and  literally  "  dwelt  among  the  tombs." 
Tortured  by  incessant  pain,  he  wrestled  against  its 
attendant  languor  and  debility  as  a  sinful  wasting 
of  inestimable  time ;  goaded  himself  to  constant 
toil  and  devotional  exercise,  and,  to  use  his  own 


I58  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

words,  "stirred  up  his  sluggish  soul  to  speak  to  sin 
ners  with  compassion,  as  a  dying  man  to  dying  men/* 

Such  entire  consecration  could  not  long  be  with 
out  its  effect,  even  upon  the  "  vicious  rabble,"  as 
Baxter  calls  them.  His  extraordinary  earnestness, 
self-forgetting  concern  for  the  spiritual  welfare  of 
others;  his  rigid  life  of  denial  and  sacrifice,  if  they 
failed  of  bringing  men  to  his  feet  as  penitents,  could 
not  but  awaken  a  feeling  of  reverence  and  awe.  In 
Kidderminster,  as  in  most  other  parishes  of  the 
kingdom,  there  were  at  this  period  pious,  sober, 
prayerful  people,  diligent  readers  of  the  Scriptures, 
who  were  derided  by  their  neighbors  as  Puritans, 
precisians,  and  hypocrites.  These  were  naturally 
drawn  toward  the  new  preacher,  and  he  as  naturally 
recognized  them  as  "  honest  seekers  of  the  word  and 
way  of  God."  Intercourse  with  such  men,  and  the 
perusal  of  the  writings  of  certain  eminent  Noncon 
formists,  had  the  effect  to  abate,  in  some  degree,  his 
strong  attachment  to  the  Episcopal  formula  and 
polity.  He  began  to  doubt  the  rightfulness  of  mak 
ing  the  sign  of  the  cross  in  baptism,  and  to  hesitate 
about  administering  the  sacrament  to  profane  swear 
ers  and  tipplers. 

But  while  Baxter,  in  the  seclusion  of  his  parish, 
was  painfully  weighing  the  arguments  for  and 
against  the  wearing  of  surplices,  the  use  of  marriage 
rings,  and  the  prescribec)  gestures  and  genuflections 
of  his  order;  tything,  with  more  or  less  scruple  of 
conscience,  the  mint  and  anise  and  cummin  of  pul 
pit  ceremonials,  the  weightier  matters  of  the  law. 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  1 59 

freedom,  justice,  and  truth,  were  claiming  the  atten 
tion  of  Pym  and  Hampden,  Brook  and  Vane,  in  the 
Parliament  House.  The  controversy  between  King 
and  Commons  had  reached  the  point  where  it  could 
only  be  decided  by  the  dread  arbitrament  of  battle. 
The  somewhat  equivocal  position  of  the  Kidder 
minster  preacher  exposed  him  to  the  suspicion  of 
the  adherents  of  the  King  and  Bishops.  The  rabble, 
at  that  period  sympathizing  with  the  party  of  license 
in  morals  and  strictness  in  ceremonials,  insulted  and 
mocked  him,  and  finally  drove  him  from  his  parish. 
On  the  memorable  23d  of  loth  month,  1642,  he 
was  invited  to  occupy  a  friend's  pulpit  at  Alcester. 
While  preaching,  a  low,  dull,  jarring  roll,  as  of  con 
tinuous  thunder,  sounded  in  his  ears.  It  was  the 
cannon-fire  of  Edgehill,  the  prelude  to  the  stern 
battle-piece  of  revolution.  On  the  morrow,  Baxter 
hurried  to  the  scene  of  action.  "  I  was  desirous," 
he  says,  "to  see  the  field.  I  found  the  Earl  -of  Essex 
keeping  the  ground,  and  the  King's  army  facing 
them  on  a  hill  about  a  mile  off.  There  were  about 
a  thousand  dead  bodies  in  the  field  between  them." 
Turning  from  this  ghastly  survey,  the  preacher 
mingled  with  the  Parliamentary  army,  when,  finding 
the  surgeons  busy  with  the  wounded,  he  very  nat 
urally  sought  occasion  for  the  exercise  of  his  own 
vocation  as  a  spiritual  practitioner.  He  attached 
himself  to  the  army.  So  far  as  we  can  gather  from 
his  own  memoirs,  and  the  testimony  of  his  contem 
poraries,  he  was  not  influenced  to  this  step  by  any 
of  the  political  motives  which  actuated  the  Parlia. 


160  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

mentary  leaders.  He  was  no  Revolutionist.  He 
was  as  blind  and  unquestioning  in  his  reverence  for 
the  King's  person  and  divine  right,  and  as  hearty  in 
his  hatred  of  religious  toleration  and  civil  equality, 
as  any  of  his  clerical  brethren  who  officiated  in  a 
similar  capacity  in  the  ranks  of  Goring  and  Prince 
Rupert.  He  seems  only  to  have  looked  upon  the 
soldiers  as  a  new  set  of  parishioners,  whom  Provi 
dence  had  thrown  in  his  way.  The  circumstances 
of  his  situation  left  him  little  choice  in  the  matter. 
"  I  had,"  he  says,  "  neither  money  nor  friends.  I 
knew  not  who  would  receive  me  in  a  place  of  safety, 
nor  had  I  anything  to  satisfy  them  for  diet  and  en 
tertainment."  He  accepted  an  offer  to  live  in  the 
Governor's  house  at  Coventry,  and  preach  to  the 
soldiers  of  the  garrison.  Here  his  skill  in  polemics 
was  called  into  requisition,  in  an  encounter  with  two 
New  England  Antinomians,  and  a  certain  Anabap 
tist  tailor  who  was  making  more  rents  in  the  garri 
son's  orthodoxy  than  he  mended  in  their  doublets 
and  breeches.  Coventry  seems  at  this  time  to  have 
been  the  rendezvous  of  a  large  body  of  clergymen, 
who,  as  Baxter  says,  were  "  for  King  and  Parlia 
ment  "  ;  men  who,  in  their  desire  for  a  more  spiritual 
worship,  most  unwillingly  found  themselves  classed 
with  the  sectaries  whom  they  regarded  as  troublers 
and  heretics,  not  to  be  tolerated;  who  thought  the 
King  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Papists,  and 
that  Essex  and  Cromwell  were  fighting  to  restore 
him  ;  and  who  followed  the  Parliamentary  forces  to 
see  to  it  that  they  were  kept  sound  in  faith,  and  free 


RICHARD   BAXTER.  l6l 

from  the  heresy  of  which  the  Court  News  Book  ac 
cused  them.  Of  doing  anything  to  overturn  the 
order  of  Church  and  State,  or  of  promoting  any  rad 
ical  change  in  the  social  and  political  condition  of 
the  people,  they  had  no  intention  whatever.  They 
looked  at  the  events  of  the  time,  and  upon  their  du 
ties  in  respect  to  them,  not  as  politicians  or  reform- 
ers,  but  simply  as  ecclesiastics  and  spiritual  teachers, 
responsible  to  God  for  the  religious  beliefs  and  prac 
tices  of  the  people,  rather  than  for  their  temporal 
welfare  and  happiness.  They  were  not  the  men  who 
struck  down  the  solemn  and  imposing  Prelacy  of 
England,  and  vindicated  the  divine  right  of  men  to 
freedom  by  tossing  the  head  of  an  anointed  tyrant 
from  the  scaffold  at  Westminster.  It  was  the  so- 
called  schismatics,  ranters,  and  levelers,  the  dispu 
tatious  corporals  and  Anabaptist  musketeers,  the 
dread  and  abhorrence  alike  of  Prelate  and  Presbyter, 
who,  under  the  lead  of  Cromwell, 

Ruined  the  great  work  of  time, 
And  cast  the  kingdoms  old    " 
Into  another  mold. 

The  Commonwealth  was  the  work  of  the  laity,  the 
sturdy  yeomanry  and  God-fearing  commoners  of 
England. 

The  news  of  the  fight  of  Naseby  reaching  Cov* 
entry,  Baxter,  who  had  friends  in  the  Parliamen 
tary  forces,  wishing,  as  he  says,  to  be  assured  of 
their  safety,  passed  over  to  the  stricken  field,  and 
spent  a  night  with  them.  He  was  afflicted  and  con- 


162  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

founded  by  the  information  which  they  gave  him 
that  the  victorious  army  was  full  of  hot-headed 
schemers  and  levelers,  who  were  against  King  and 
Church,  prelacy  and  ritual,  and  who  were  for  a  free 
Commonwealth  and  freedom  of  religious  belief  and 
worship.  He  was  appalled  to  find  that  the  heresies 
of  the  Antinomians,  Arminians,  and  Anabaptists, 
had  made  sadder  breaches  in  the  ranks  of  Cromwell 
than  the  pikes  of  Jacob  Astley,  or  the  daggers  of 
the  roysterers  who  followed  the  mad  charge  of 
Rupert.  Hastening  back  to  Coventry,  he  called 
together  his  clerical  brethren,  and  told  them  "  the 
sad  news  of  the  corruption  of  the  army."  After 
much  painful  consideration  of  the  matter,  it  was 
deemed  best  for  Baxter  to  enter  Cromwell's  army, 
nominally  as  its  chaplain,  but  really  as  the  special 
representative  of  orthodoxy  in  politics  and  religion, 
against  the  democratic  weavers  and  prophesying 
tailors  who  troubled  it.  He  joined  Whalley's  regi 
ment,  and  followed  it  through  many  a  hot  skirmish 
and  siege.  Personal  fear  was  by  no  means  one  of 
Baxter's  characteristics,  and  he  bore  himself  through 
all  with  the  coolness  of  an  old  campaigner.  Intent 
upon  his  single  object,  he  sat  unmoved  under  the 
hail  of  cannon-shot  from  the  walls  of  Bristol,  con 
fronted  the  well-plied  culverins  of  Sherburne, 
charged  side  by  side  with  Harrison  upon  Goring's 
musketeers  at  Langford,  and  heard  the  exulting 
thanksgiving  of  that  grim  enthusiast,  when  "  with  a 
loud  voice  he  broke  forth  in  praises  of  God,  as  one 
in  rapture  " ;  and  marched,  Bible  in  hand,  with 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  165 

Cromwell  himself,  to  the  storming  of  Basing-House, 
so  desperately  defended  by  the  Marquis  of  Win 
chester.  In  truth,  these  storms  of  outward  conflict 
were  to  him  of  small  moment.  He  was  engaged  in 
a  sterner  battle  with  spiritual  principalities  and  pow 
ers,  struggling  with  Satan  himself  in  the  guise  of 
political  levelers  and  Antinomian  sowers  of  heresy. 
No  antagonist  was  too  high  and  none  too  low  for 
him.  Distrusting  Cromwell,  he  sought  to  engage 
him  in  a  discussion  of  certain  points  of  abstract 
theology,  wherein  his  soundness  seemed  question 
able  ;  but  the  wary  chief  baffled  off  the  young  dis 
putant  by  tedious,  unanswerable  discourses  about 
free  grace,  which  Baxter  admits  were  not  unsavory 
to  others,  although  the  speaker  himself  had  little 
understanding  of  the  matter.  At  other  times,  he 
repelled  his  sad-visaged  chaplain  with  unwelcome 
jests,  and  rough,  soldierly  merriment  ;  for  he  had 
"  a  vivacity,  hilarity,  and  alacrity,  as  another  man 
hath  when  he  hath  taken  a  cup  too  much."  Baxter 
says  of  him  complainingly,  "  He  would  not  dispute 
with  me  at  all."  But  in  the  midst  of  such  an  army, 
he  could  not  lack  abundant  opportunity  for  the  ex 
ercise  of  his  peculiar  powers  of  argumentation.  At 
Amersham,  he  had  a  sort  of  pitched  battle  with  the 
contumacious  soldiers.  "  When  the  public  talking 
day  came,"  says  he,  "  I  took  the  reading  pew,  and 
Pitchford's  cornet  and  troopers  took  the  gallery. 
There  did  the  leader  of  the  Chesham  men  begin,  and 
afterward  Pitchford's  soldiers  set  in  and  I  alone 
disputed  with  them  from  morning  until  almost 


1 64  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

night ;  for  I  knew  their  trick,  that  if  I  had  gone  out 
first,  they  would  have  prated  what  boasting  words 
they  listed,  and  made  the  people  believe  that  they 
had  baffled  me,  or  got  the  best ;  therefore  I  stayed  it 
out  till  they  first  rose  and  went  away.'*  As  usual 
in  such  cases,  both  parties  claimed  the  victory. 
Baxter  got  thanks  only  from  the  King's  adherents ; 
"  Pitchford's  troopers  and  the  leader  of  the  Cheshara 
men  "  retired  from  their  hard  day's  work,  to  enjoy 
the  countenance  and  favor  of  Cromwell,  as  men 
after  his  own  heart,  faithful  to  the  Houses  and  the 
Word,  against  Kingcraft  and  Prelacy. 

Laughed  at  and  held  at  arm's  length  by  Crom 
well,  shunned  by  Harrison  and  Berry  and  other 
chief  officers,  opposed  on  all  points  by  shrewd, 
earnest  men,  as  ready  for  polemic  controversy  as 
for  battle  with  the  King's  malignants,  and  who  set 
off  against  his  theological  and  metaphysical  distinc 
tions  their  own  personal  experiences  and  spiritual 
exercises,  he  had  little  to  encourage  him  in  his 
arduous  labors.  Alone  in  such  a  multitude,  flushed 
with  victory  and  glowing  with  religious  enthusiasm, 
he  earnestly  begged  his  brother  ministers  to  come 
to  his  aid.  "  If  the  army,"  said  he,  "had  only  min 
isters  enough,  who  could  have  done  such  little  as  I 
did,  all  their  plot  might  have  been  broken,  and  King, 
Parliament,  and  Religion  might  have  been  pre 
served."  But  no  one  volunteered  to  assist  him,  and 
the  "  plot  "  of  Revolution  went  on. 

After  Worcester  fight  he  returned  to  Coventry,  to 
make  his  report  to  the  ministers  assembled  there. 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  165 

He  told  them  of  his  labors  and  trials,  of  the  growth 
of  heresy  and  leveling  principles  in  the  army,  and 
of  the  evident  design  of  its  leaders  to  pull  down 
Church,  King,  and  Ministers.  He  assured  them 
that  the  day  was  at  hand  when  all  who  were  true  to 
the  King,  Parliament,  and  Religion  should  come 
forth  to  oppose  these  leaders,  and  draw  away  their 
soldiers  from  them.  For  himself,  he  was  willing  to 
go  back  to  the  army,  and  labor  there  until  the  crisis 
of  which  he  spoke  had  arrived.  "  Whereupon," 
says  he,  "  they  all  voted  me  to  go  yet  longer." 

Fortunately  for  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious 
freedom,  the  great  body  of  the  ministers,  who  dis 
approved  of  the  ultraism  of  the  victorious  army, 
and  sympathized  with  the  defeated  King,  lacked 
the  courage  and  devotedness  of  Baxter.  Had  they 
promptly  seconded  his  efforts,  although  the  restora 
tion  of  the  King  might  have  been  impossible  at  that 
late  period,  the  horrors  of  civil  war  must  have  been 
greatly  protracted.  As  it  was,  they  preferred  to 
remain  at  home,  and  let  Baxter  have  the  benefit  of 
their  prayers  and  good  wishes.  He  returned  to  the 
army  with  the  settled  purpose  of  causing  its  defec 
tion  from  Cromwell ;  but,  by  one  of  those  dispensa 
tions  which  the  latter  used  to  call  "births  of 
Providence,"  he  was  stricken  down  with  severe  sick 
ness.  Baxter's  own  comments  upon  this  passage  in 
liis  life  are  not  without  interqst.  He  says  God 
prevented  his  purposes  in  his  last  and  chiefest 
opposition  to  the  army ;  that  he  intended  to  take 
off  or  seduce  from  their  officers  the  regiment  with 


1 66  PORTRAITS  AND    SKETCHES. 

which  he  was  connected,  and  then  to  have  tried  hjs 
persuasion  upon  the  others.  He  says  he  afterward 
found  that  his  sickness  was  a  mercy  to  himself,  "  for 
they  were  so  strong  and  active,  and  I  had  been 
likely  to  have  had  small  success  in  the  attempt,  and 
to  have  lost  my  life  among  them  in  their  fury."  He 
was  right  in  this  last  conjecture  ;  Oliver  Cromwell 
would  have  had  no  scruples  in  making  an  example 
of  a  plotting  priest ;  and  "  Pitchford's  soldiers  '* 
might  have  been  called  upon  to  silence,  with  their 
muskets,  the  tough  disputant  who  was  proof  against 
their  tongues. 

After  a  long  and  dubious  illness,  Baxter  was  so- 
far  restored  as  to  be  able  to  go  back  to  his  old 
parish  at  Kidderminster.  Here,  under  the  Protec 
torate  of  Cromwell,  he  remained  in  the  full  enjoy* 
ment  of  that  religious  liberty  which  he  still  stoutly- 
condemned  in  its  application  to  others. 

He  afterward  candidly  admits,  that,  under  the 
"  Usurper,"  as  he  styles  Cromwell,  "  he  had  such 
liberty  and  advantage  to  preach  the  Gospel  with 
success,  as  he  could  not  have  under  a  King,  ta 
whom  he  had  sworn  and  performed  true  subjection 
and  obedience."  Yet  this  did  not  prevent  him  from 
preaching  and  printing,  "  seasonably  and  moder 
ately,"  against  the  Protector.  "  I  declared,"  said 
he,  "  Cromwell  and  his  adherents  to  be  guilty  of 
treason  and  rebellion,  aggravated  by  perfidiousness 
and  hypocrisy.  But  yet  I  did  not  think  it  my  duty 
to  rave  against  him  in  the  pulpit,  or  to  do  this  so- 
unseasonably  and  imprudently  as  might  irritate  him. 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  167 

to  mischief.  And  the  rather,  because,  as  he  kept 
up  his  approbation  of  a  godly  life  in  general,  and  of 
all  that  was  good,  except  that  which  the  interest  of 
his  sinful  cause  engaged  him  to  be  against.  So  I 
perceived  that  it  was  his  design  to  do  good  in  the 
main,  and  to  promote  the  Gospel  and  the  interests 
of  godliness  more  than  any  had  done  before  him." 

Cromwell,  if  he  heard  of  his  diatribes  against  him, 
appears  to  have  cared  little  for  them.  Lords  War 
wick  and  Broghill,  on  one  occasion,  brought  him  to 
preach  before  the  Lord  Protector.  He  seized  the 
occasion  to  preach  against  the  sectaries,  to  condemn 
all  who  countenanced  them,  and  to  advocate  the 
unity  of  the  church.  Soon  after,  he  was  sent  for  by 
Cromwell,  who  made  "a  long  and  tedious  speech," 
in  the  presence  of  three  of  his  chief  men  (one  of 
whom,  General  Lambert,  fell  asleep  the  while),  as 
serting  that  God  had  owned  his  government  in  a 
signal  manner.  Baxter  boldly  replied  to  him  that 
he  and  his  friends  regarded  the  ancient  monarchy 
as  a  blessing,  and  not  an  evil,  and  begged  to  know 
how  that  blessing  was  forfeited  to  England,  and  to 
whom  that  forfeiture  was  made.  Cromwell,  with 
some  heat,  made  answer  that  it  was  no  forfeiture, 
but  that  God  had  made  the  change.  They  after 
ward  held  a  long  conference  with  respect  to  free 
dom  of  conscience,  Cromwell  defending  his  liberal 
policy  and  Baxter  opposing  it.  No  one  can  read 
Baxter's  own  account  of  these  interviews  without 
being  deeply  impressed  with  the  generous  and  mag 
nanimous  spirit  of  the  Lord  Protector  in  tolerating 


i68  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

the  utmost  freedom  of  speech  on  the  part  of  one 
who  openly  denounced  him  as  a  traitor  and  usurper. 
Real  greatness  of  mind  could  alone  have  risen  above 
personal  resentment  under  such  circumstances  of 
peculiar  aggravation. 

In  the  death  of  the  Protector,  the  treachery  of 
Monk,  and  the  restoration  of  the  King,  Baxter  and 
his  Presbyterian  friends  believed  that  they  saw  the 
hand  of  a  merciful  Providence  preparing  the  way  for 
the  best  good  of  England  and  the  Church.  Always 
royalists,  they  had  acted  with  the  party  opposed 
to  the  King  from  necessity  rather  than  choice. 
Considering  all  that  followed,  one  can  scarcely 
avoid  smiling  over  the  extravagant  jubilations  of 
the  Presbyterian  divines  on  the  return  of  the  royal 
debauchee  to  Whitehall.  They  hurried  up  to  Lon 
don  with  congratulations  of  formidable  length  and 
papers  of  solemn  advice  and  counsel,  to  all  which 
the  careless  monarch  listened  with  what  patience  he 
was  master  of.  Baxter  was  one  of  the  first  to  pre 
sent  himself  at  Court,  and  it  is  creditable  to  his  heart 
rather  than  his  judgment  and  discrimination,  that 
he  seized  the  occasion  to  offer  a  long  address  to  the 
King,  expressive  of  his  expectation  that  his  Majesty 
would  discountenance  all  sin  and  promote  godliness, 
support  the  true  exercise  of  Church  discipline,  and 
cherish  and  hold  up  the  hands  of  the  faithful  min 
isters  of  the  Church.  To  all  which  Charles  II 
"  made  as  gracious  an  answer  as  we  could  expect," 
says  Baxter,  "  insomuch  that  old  Mr.  Ash  burst  out 
into  tears  of  joy."  Who  doubts  that  the  profligate 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  169 

King  avenged  himself  as  soon  as  the  backs  of  his 
unwelcome  visitors  were  fairly  turned,  by  coarse 
jests  and  ribaldry,  directed  against  a  class  of  men 
whom  he  despised  and  hated,  but  toward  whom 
reasons  of  policy  dictated  a  show  of  civility  and 
kindness. 

There  is  reason  to  believe  that  Charles  II,  had  he 
been  able  to  effect  his  purpose,  would  have  gone 
beyond  Cromwell  himself  in  the  matter  of  religious 
toleration  ;  in  other  words,  he  would  have  taken,  in 
the  outset  of  his  reign,  the  very  steps  which  cost  his 
successor  his  crown,  and  procured  the  toleration  of 
Catholics  by  a  declaration  of  universal  freedom  in 
religion.  But  he  was  not  in  a  situation  to  brave  the 
opposition  alike  of  Prelacy  and  Presbyterianism,  and 
foiled  in  a  scheme  to  which  he  was  prompted  by  that 
vague,  superstitious  predilection  for  the  Roman 
Catholic  religion,  which  at  times  struggled  with  his 
habitual  skepticism,  his  next  object  was  to  rid  him 
self  of  the  importunities  of  sectaries,  and  the  trouble 
of  religious  controversies,  by  re-establishing  the 
liturgy,  and  bribing  or  enforcing  conformity  to  it  on 
the  part  of  the  Presbyterians.  The  history  of  the 
successful  execution  of  this  purpose  is  familiar  to 
all  the  readers  of  the  plausible  pages  of  Clarendon 
on  the  one  side,  or  the  complaining  treatises  of  Neal 
and  Calamy  on  the  other.  Charles  and  his  advisers 
triumphed,  not  so  much  through  their  own  art,  dis 
simulation,  and  bad  faith,  as  through  the  blind 
bigotry,  divided  counsels,  and  self-seeking  of  the 
Nonconformists.  Seduction  on  one  hand,  and 


1 70  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

threats  on  the  other,  the  bribe  of  bishoprics,  hatred 
of  Independents  and  Quakers,  and  the  terror  of 
penal  laws,  broke  the  strength  of  Presbyterianism. 
Baxter's  whole  conduct,  on  this  occasion,  bears 
testimony  to  his  honesty  and  sincerity,  while  it 
shows  him  to  have  been  too  intolerant  to  secure  his 
own  religious  freedom  at  the  price  of  toleration  for 
Catholics,  Quakers,  and  Anabaptists ;  and  too  blind 
in  his  loyalty  to  perceive  that  pure  and  undefiled 
Christianity  had  nothing  to  hope  for  from  a  scanda 
lous  and  depraved  King,  surrounded  by  scoffing, 
licentious  courtiers,  and  a  haughty,  revengeful  Prel 
acy.  To  secure  his  influence,  the  Court  offered  him 
the  Bishopric  of  Hereford.  Superior  to  personal 
considerations,  he  declined  the  honor;  but  some 
what  inconsistently,  in  his  zeal  for  the  interests  of 
his  party,  he  urged  the  elevation  of  at  least  three  of 
his  Presbyterian  friends  to  the  Episcopal  bench,  to 
enforce  that  very  liturgy  which  they  condemned 
He  was  the  chief  speaker  for  the  Presbyterians  at 
the  famous  Savoy  Conference,  summoned  to  advise 
and  consult  upon  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  His 
antagonist  was  Dr.  Gunning,  ready,  fluent,  and  im 
passioned.  "  They  spent,"  as  Gilbert  Burnet  says, 
"  several  days  in  logical  arguing,  to  the  diversion  of 
the  town,  who  looked  upon  them  as  a  couple  of 
fencers,  engaged  in  a  discussion  which  could  not  be 
brought  to  an  end."  In  themselves  considered, 
many  of  the  points  at  issue  seem  altogether  too 
trivial  for  the  zeal  with  which  Baxter  contested  them 
« — the  form  of  a  surplice,  the  wording  of  a  prayer, 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  1?  I 

kneeling  at  sacrament,  the  sign  of  the  cross,  etc. 
With  him,  however,  they  were  of  momentous  inter 
est  and  importance,  as  things  unlawful  in  the  wor 
ship  of  God.  He  struggled  desperately,  but  unavail- 
ingly.  Presbyterianism,  in  its  eagerness  for  peace 
and  union,  and  a  due  share  of  State  support,  had  al 
ready  made  fatal  concessions,  and  it  was  too  late  to 
stand  upon  non-essentials.  Baxter  retired  from  the 
conference  baffled  and  defeated,  amid  murmurs 
and  jests.  "  If  you  had  only  been  as  fat  as  Dr.  Man- 
ton,"  said  Clarendon  to  him,  "you  would  have  done 
well." 

The  Act  of  Conformity,  in  which  Charles  II  and 
his  counselors  gave  the  lie  to  the  liberal  declara 
tions  of  Breda  and  Whitehall,  drove  Baxter  from 
his  sorrowing  parishioners  of  Kidderminster,  and 
added  the  evils  of  poverty  and  persecution  to  the 
painful  bodily  infirmities  under  which  he  was  already 
bowed  down.  Yet  his  cup  was  not  one  of  unalloyed 
bitterness,  and  loving  lips  were  prepared  to  drink  it 
with  him. 

Among  Baxter's  old  parishioners  of  Kiddermin 
ster,  was  a  widowed  lady  of  gentle  birth,  named 
Charlton,  who,  with  her  daughter  Margaret,  occu 
pied  a  house  in  his  neighborhood.  The  daughter 
was  a  brilliant  girl,  of  "  strangely  vivid  wit, "and  "in 
«arly  youth,"  he  tells  us,  "  pride,  and  romances,  and 
company  suitable  thereunto,  did  take  her  up."  But 
ere  long,  Baxter,  who  acted  in  the  double  capacity 
of  spiritual  and  temporal  physician,  was  sent  for  to 
visit  her,  on  an  occasion  of  sickness.  He  ministered 


172  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

to  her  bodily  and  mental  sufferings,  and  thus  secured 
her  gratitude  and  confidence.  On  her  recovery, 
under  the  influence  of  his  warnings  and  admoni 
tions,  the  gay  young  girl  became  thoughtful  and 
serious,  abandoned  her  light  books  and  companions,, 
and  devoted  herself  to  the  duties  of  a  Christian  pro 
fession.  Baxter  was  her  counselor  and  confidant. 
She  disclosed  to  him  all  her  doubts,  trials,  and 
temptations,  and  he,  in  return,  wrote  her  long  letters 
of  sympathy,  consolation,  and  encouragement.  He 
began  to  feel  such  an  unwonted  interest  in  the 
moral  and  spiritual  growth  of  his  young  disciple, 
that,  in  his  daily  walks  among  his  parishioners,  he 
found  himself  inevitably  drawn  toward  her  mother's 
dwelling.  In  her  presence,  the  habitual  austerity  of 
his  manner  was  softened  ;  his  cold,  close  heart 
warmed  and  expanded.  He  began  to  repay  her 
confidence  with  his  own,  disclosing  to  her  all  his 
plans  of  benevolence,  soliciting  her  services,  and 
waiting,  with  deference,  for  her  judgment  upon 
them.  A  change  came  over  his  habits  of  thought 
and  his  literary  tastes ;  the  harsh,  rude  disputant, 
the  tough,  dry  logician,  found  himself  addressing  to 
his  young  friend  epistles  in  verse  on  doctrinal  points 
and  matters  of  casuistry ;  Westminster  Catechism  in 
rhyme;  the  Solemn  League  and  Covenant  set  to  music. 
A  miracle  alone  could  have  made  Baxter  a  poet ;  the 
cold,  clear  light  of  reason  "paled  the  ineffectual 
fires"  of  his  imagination  ;  all  things  presented  them 
selves  to  his  vision  "with  hard  outlines,  colorless, 
and  with  no  surrounding  atmosphere."  That  he 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  173 

did,  nevertheless,  write  verses  so  creditable  as  to 
justify  a  judicious  modern  critic  in  their  citation  and 
approval,  can  perhaps  be  accounted  for  only  as  one 
of  the  phenomena  of  that  subtle  and  transforming 
influence  to  which  even  his  stern  nature  was  uncon 
sciously  yielding.  Baxter  was  in  love. 

Never  did  the  blind  god  try  his  archery  on  a  more 
unpromising  subject.  Baxter  was  nearly  fifty  years 
of  age,  and  looked  still  older.  His  life  had  been  one 
long  fast  and  penance.  Even  in  youth  he  had  never 
known  a  schoolboy's  love  for  cousin  or  playmate. 
He  had  resolutely  closed  up  his  heart  against  emo 
tions  which  he  regarded  as  the  allurements  of  time 
and  sense.  He  had  made  a  merit  of  celibacy,  and 
written  and  published  against  the  entanglement  of 
godly  ministers  in  matrimonial  engagements  and 
family  cares.  It  is  questionable  whether  he  now 
understood  his  own  case,  or  attributed  to  its  right 
cause  the  peculiar  interest  which  he  felt  in  Margaret 
Charlton.  Left  to  himself,  it  is  more  than  probable 
that  he  might  never  have  discovered  the  true  nature 
of  that  interest,  or  conjectured  that  anything  what 
ever  of  earthly  passion  or  sublunary  emotion  had 
mingled  with  his  spiritual  Platonism.  Commis 
sioned  and  set  apart  to  preach  repentance  to  dying 
men,  penniless  and  homeless,  worn  with  bodily  pain 
and  mental  toil,  and  treading,  as  he  believed,  on  the 
very  margin  of  his  grave,  what  had  he  to  do  with 
love  ?  What  power  had  he  to  inspire  that  tender 
sentiment,  the  appropriate  offspring  only  of  youth, 
and  health,  and  beauty  ? 


274  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

Could  any  Beatrice  see 
A  lover  in  such  anchorite  ? 

But,  in  the  mean  time,  a  reciprocal  feeling  was 
gaining  strength  in  the  heart  of  Margaret.  To  her 
grateful  appreciation  of  the  condescension  of  a  great 
and  good  man — grave,  learned,  and  renowned — to 
her  youth  and  weakness,  and  to  her  enthusiastic  ad 
miration  of  his  intellectual  powers,  devoted  to  the 
highest  and  holiest  objects,  succeeded,  naturally 
enough,  the  tenderly  suggestive  pity  of  her  woman's 
heart,  as  she  thought  of  his  lonely  home,  his  un 
shared  sorrows,  his  lack  of  those  sympathies  and 
kindnesses  which  make  tolerable  the  hard  journey  of 
life.  Did  she  not  owe  to  him,  under  God,  the  salva 
tion  of  body  and  mind?  Was  he  not  her  truest 
and  most  faithful  friend,  entering  with  lively  inter 
est  into  all  her  joys  and  sorrows  ?  Had  she  not  seen 
the  cloud  of  his  habitual  sadness  broken  by  gleams 
of  sunny  warmth  and  cheerfulness,  as  they  conversed 
together?  Could  she  do  better  than  to  devote  her 
self  to  the  pleasing  task  of  making  his  life  happier, 
of  comforting  him  in  seasons  of  pain  and  weariness, 
encouraging  him  in  his  vast  labors,  and  throwing 
over  the  cold  and  hard  austerities  of  his  nature  the 
warmth  and  light  of  domestic  affection  ?  Pity,  rev 
erence,  gratitude,  and  womanly  tenderness,  her 
fervid  imagination  and  the  sympathies  of  a  deeply 
religious  nature,  combined  to  influence  her  de 
cision.  Disparity  of  age  and  condition  rendered  it 
improbable  that  Baxter  would  ever  venture  to  ad 
dress  her  in  any  other  capacity  than  that  of  a  friend 


RICHARD   BAXTER.  175 

and  teacher;  and  it  was  left  to  herself  to  give  the 
first  intimation  of  the  possibility  of  a  more  intimate 
relation. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  with  what  mixed  feelings  of 
joy,  surprise,  and  perplexity,  Baxter  must  have  re 
ceived  the  delicate  avowal.  There  was  much  in  the 
circumstances  of  the  case  to  justify  doubt,  misgiving, 
and  close  searchings  of  heart.  He  must  have  felt 
the  painful  contrast  which  that  fair  girl,  in  the  bloom 
of  her  youth,  presented  to  the  worn  man  of  middle 
years,  whose  very  breath  was  suffering,  and  over 
whom  death  seemed  always  impending.  Keenly 
conscious  of  his  infirmities  of  temper,  he  must  have 
feared  for  the  happiness  of  a  loving,  gentle  being, 
daily  exposed  to  their  manifestations.  From  his 
well-known  habit  of  consulting  what  he  regarded  as 
the  Divine  Will  in  every  important  step  of  his  life, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  decision  was  the  re 
sult  quite  as  much  of  a  prayerful  and  patient  con 
sideration  of  duty,  as  of  the  promptings  of  his  heart. 
Richard  Baxter  was  no  impassioned  Abelard  ;  his 
pupil  in  the  school  of  his  severe  and  self-denying 
piety  was  no  Heloise  ;  but  what  their  union  lacked 
in  romantic  interest  was  compensated  by  its  purity 
and  disinterestedness,  and  its  sanction  by  all  that 
can  hallow  human  passion,  and  harmonize  the  love 
of  the  created  with  the  love  and  service  of  the  Cre 
ator. 

Although  summoned  by  a  power  which  it  would 
have  been  folly  to  resist,  the  tough  theologian  did 
not  surrender  at  discretion.  "  From  the  first 


176  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

thoughts,  yet  many  changes  and  stoppages  inter- 
vened  and  long  delays,"  he  tells  us.  The  terms 
upon  which  he  finally  capitulated  are  perfectly  in 
keeping  with  his  character.  "  She  consented,"  he 
says,  "  to  three  conditions  of  our  marriage.  First, 
That  I  should  have  nothing  that  before  our  mar 
riage  was  hers ;  that  I,  who  wanted  no  earthly  sup 
plies,  might  not  seem  to  marry  her  from  selfishness. 
Second,  That  she  would  so  alter  her  affairs  that  I 
might  be  entangled  in  no  lawsuits.  Third,  That 
she  should  expect  none  of  my  time  which  my 
ministerial  work  should  require." 

As  was  natural,  the  wits  of  the  Court  had  their 
jokes  upon  this  singular  marriage  ;  and  many  of  his 
best  friends  regretted  it,  when  they  called  to  mind 
what  he  had  written  in  favor  of  ministerial  celibacy, 
at  a  time  when,  as  he  says,  "  he  thought  to  live  and 
die  a  bachelor."  But  Baxter  had  no  reason  to  re 
gret  the  inconsistency  of  his  precept  and  example. 
How  much  of  the  happiness  of  the  next  twenty 
years  of  his  life  resulted  from  his  union  with  a  kind 
and  affectionate  woman,  he  has  himself  testified,  in 
his  simple  and  touching  "  Breviate  of  the  Life  of 
the  late  Mrs.  Baxter."  Her  affections  were  so 
ardent  that  her  husband  confesses  his  fear  that  he 
was  unable  to  make  an  adequate  return,  and  that 
she  must  have  been  disappointed  in  him  in  con 
sequence.  He  extols  her  pleasant  conversation, 
her  active  benevolence,  her  disposition  to  aid  him 
in  all  his  labors,  and  her  noble  forgetfulness  of  self 
in  ministering  to  his  comfort  in  sickness  and  ira- 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  l?7 

prisonment.  "  She  was  the  meetest  helper  I  could 
have  had  in  the  world,"  is  his  language.  "  If  I 
spoke  harshly  or  sharply,  it  offended  her.  If  I  car 
ried  it  (as  I  am  apt)  with  too  much  negligence  of 
ceremony  or  humble  compliment  to  any,  she  would 
modestly  tell  me  of  it.  If  my  looks  seemed  not 
pleasant,  she  would  have  me  amend  them  (which 
my  weak,  pained  state  of  body  indisposed  me  to 
do)."  He  admits  she  had  her  failings,  but,  taken  as 
a  whole,  the  "  Breviate  "  is  an  exalted  eulogy. 

His  history  from  this  time  is  marked  by  few  inci 
dents  of  a  public  character.  During  that  most  dis 
graceful  period  in  the  annals  of  England,  the  reign 
of  the  second  Charles,  his  peculiar  position  exposed 
him  to  the  persecutions  of  Prelacy  and  the  taunts 
and  abuse  of  the  sectaries,  standing  as  he  did  be 
tween  these  extremes,  and  pleading  for  a  moderate 
Episcopacy.  He  was  between  the  upper  millstone 
of  High  Church  and  the  nether  one  of  Dissent.  To 
use  his  own  simile,  he  was  like  one  who  seeks  to  fill 
with  his  hand  a  cleft  in  a  log,  and  feels  both  sides 
close  upon  him  with  pain.  All  parties  and  sects 
had,  as  they  thought,  grounds  of  complaint  against 
him.  There  was  in  him  an  almost  childish  sim 
plicity  of  purpose,  a  headlong  earnestness  and 
eagerness,  which  did  not  allow  him  to  consider  how 
far  a  present  act  or  opinion  harmonized  with  what 
he  had  already  done  or  written.  His  greatest  ad 
mirers  admit  his  lack  of  judgment,  his  inaptitude 
for  the  management  of  practical  matters.  His  utter 
incapacity  to  comprehend  rightly  the  public  men 


1 78  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES 

and  measures  of  his  day  is  abundantly  apparent; 
and  the  inconsistencies  of  his  conduct  and  his  writ 
ings  are  too  marked  to  need  comment.  He  suf 
fered  persecution  for  not  conforming  to  some 
trifling  matters  of  church  usage,  while  he  advocated 
the  doctrine  of  passive  obedience  to  the  King  or 
ruling  power,  and  the  right  of  that  power  to  enforce 
conformity.  He  wrote  against  conformity  while 
himself  conforming ;  seceded  from  the  Church,  and 
yet  held  stated  communion  with  it  ;  begged  for  the 
curacy  of  Kidderminster,  and  declined  the  bishopric 
of  Hereford.  His  writings  were  many  of  them 
directly  calculated  to  make  Dissenters  from  the 
Establishment,  but  he  was  invariably  offended  ta 
find  others  practically  influenced  by  them,  and 
quarreled  with  his  own  converts  to  Dissent.  The 
High  Churchmen  of  Oxford  burned  his  "  Holy 
Commonwealth"  as  seditious  and  revolutionary; 
while  Harrington  and  the  republican  club  of  Miles's 
coffee-house  condemned  it  for  its  hostility  to  de 
mocracy,  and  its  servile  doctrine  of  obedience  to 
kings.  He  made  noble  pleas  for  liberty  of  con 
science,  and  bitterly  complained  of  his  own  suffer 
ing  from  Church  Courts,  yet  maintained  the  neces 
sity  of  enforcing  conformity,  and  stoutly  opposed 
the  tolerant  doctrines  of  Penn  and  Milton.  Never 
did  a  great  and  good  man  so  entangle  himself  with 
contradictions  and  inconsistencies.  The  witty  and 
wicked  Sir  Roger  L'Estrange  compiled  from  the  ir 
reconcilable  portions  of  his  works  a  laughable  "  Dia 
logue  between  Richard  and  Baxter."  The  Anti- 


RICHARD   BAXTER.  1 79 

nomians  found  him  guilty  of  Socinianism  ;  and  one 
noted  controversialist  undertook  to  show,  not  with 
out  some  degree  of  plausibility,  that  he  was  by  turns 
a  Quaker  and  a  Papist. 

Although  able  to  suspend  his  judgment  and  care 
fully  weigh  evidence  upon  matters  which  he  regarded 
as  proper  subjects  of  debate  and  scrutiny,  he  pos 
sessed  the  power  to  shut  out  and  banish  at  will  all 
doubt  and  misgiving  in  respect  to  whatever  tended 
to  prove,  illustrate,  or  enforce  his  settled  opinions 
and  cherished  doctrines.  His  credulity  at  times 
seems  boundless.  Hating  the  Quakers,  and  pre 
pared  to  believe  all  manner  of  evil  of  them,  he 
readily  came  to  the  conclusion  that  their  leaders 
were  disguised  Papists.  He  maintained  that  Lauder- 
dale  was  a  good  and  pious  man,  in  spite  of  atrocities 
in  Scotland  which  entitle  him  to  a  place  with  Claver- 
house  ;  and  indorsed  the  character  of  the  infamous 
Dangerfield,  the  inventor  of  the  Meal-tub  Plot,  as  a 
worthy  convert  from  popish  errors.  To  prove  the 
existence  of  devils  and  spirits,  he  collected  the  most 
absurd  stories  and  old  wives'  fables,  of  soldiers 
scared  from  their  posts  at  night  by  headless  bears, 
of  a  young  witch  pulling  the  hooks  out  of  Mr. 
Emlen's  breeches  and  swallowing  them,  of  Mr. 
Beacham's  locomotive  tobacco-pipe,  and  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Munn's  jumping  Bible,  and  of  a  drunken  man 
punished  for  his  intemperance  by  being  lifted  off 
his  legs  by  an  invisible  hand !  Cotton  Mather's 
marvelous  account  of  his  witch  experiments  in  New 
England  delighted  him.  He  had  it  republished, 


I  So  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

declaring  that  "  he  must  be  an  obstinate  Sadducee 
who  doubted  it." 

The  married  life  of  Baxter,  as  might  be  inferred 
from  the  state  of  the  times,  was  an  unsettled  one. 
He  first  took  a  house  at  Moorfields,  then  removed 
to  Acton,  where  he  enjoyed  the  conversation  of  his 
neighbor,  Sir  Matthew  Hale  ;  from  thence  he  found 
refuge  in  Rickmansworth,  and  after  that  in  divers 
other  places.  "  The  women  have  most  of  this  trou 
ble,"  he  remarks,  "  but  my  wife  easily  bore  it  all." 
When  unable  to  preach,  his  rapid  pen  was  always 
busy.  Huge  folios  of  controversial  and  doctrinal 
lore  followed  each  other  in  quick  succession.  He 
assailed  Popery  and  the  Establishment,  Anabaptists, 
ultra  Calvinists,  Antinomians,  Fifth  Monarchy  men, 
and  Quakers.  His  hatred  of  the  latter  was  only 
modified  by  his  contempt.  He  railed  rather  than 
argued  against  the  "  miserable  creatures,"  as  he 
styled  them.  They  in  turn  answered  him  in  like 
manner.  "  The  Quakers,"  he  says,  "  in  their  shops, 
when  I  go  along  London  streets,  say,  'Alas!  poor 
man,  thou  art  yet  in  darkness.'  They  have  oft  come 
to  the  congregation,  when  I  had  liberty  to  preach 
Christ's  gospel,  and  cried  out  against  me  as  a  deceiver 
of  the  people.  They  have  followed  me  home,  cry 
ing  out  in  the  streets,  '  The  day  of  the  Lord  is  com 
ing,  and  thou  shalt  perish  as  a  deceiver/  They 
have  stood  in  the  market-place,  and  under  my 
window,  year  after  year,  crying  to  the  people, 
4  Take  heed  of  your  priests,  they  deceive  your 
souls' ;  and  if  any  one  wore  a  lace  or  neat  clothing, 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  181 

they  cried  out  to  me,  *  These  are  the  fruits  of  your 
ministry.' " 

At  Rickmansworth,  he  found  himself  a  neighbor 
of  William  Penn,  whom  he  calls  "  the  captain  of 
the  Quakers."  Ever  ready  for  battle,  Baxter  en 
countered  him  in  a  public  discussion,  with  such 
fierceness  and  bitterness  as  to  force  from  that  mild 
and  amiable  civilian  the  remark  that  he  would 
rather  be  Socrates  at  the  final  judgment,  than 
Richard  Baxter.  Both  lived  to  know  each  other 
better,  and  to  entertain  sentiments  of  mutual  esteem. 
Baxter  himself  admits  that  the  Quakers,  by  their 
perseverance  in  holding  their  religious  meetings  in 
defiance  of  penal  laws,  took  upon  themselves  the 
burden  of  persecution  which  would  otherwise  have 
fallen  upon  himself  and  his  friends;  and  makes 
special  mention  of  the  noble  and  successful  plea  of 
Penn  before  the  Recorder's  Court  in  London,  based 
on  the  fundamental  liberties  of  Englishmen  and  the 
rights  of  the  Great  Charter. 

The  intolerance  of  Baxter  toward  the  Separatists 
was  turned  against  him  whenever  he  appealed  to 
the  King  and  Parliament  against  the  proscription  of 
himself  and  his  friends.  "  They  gathered,"  he  com 
plains,  "out  of  mine  and  other  men's  books  all  that 
we  had  said  against  liberty  for  Popery  and  Quakers 
railing  against  ministers  in  open  congregation,  and 
applied  it  as  against  the  toleration  of  ourselves." 
It  was  in  vain  that  he  explained  that  he  was  only  in 
favor  of  a  gentle  coercion  of  dissent,  a  moderate  en 
forcement  of  conformity.  His  plan  for  dealing  with 


1 82  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

sectaries  reminds  one  of  old  Izaak  Walton's  direc 
tion  to  his  piscatorial  readers,  to  impale  the  frog  on 
the  hook  as  gently  as  if  they  loved  him. 

While  at  Acton,  he  was  complained  of  by  Dr. 
Ryves,  the  rector,  one  of  the  King's  chaplains  in 
ordinary,  for  holding  religious  services  in  his  family 
with  more  than  five  strangers  present.  He  was  cast 
into  Clerkenwell  jail,  whither  his  faithful  wife  fol 
lowed  him.  On  his  discharge  he  sought  refuge  in 
the  hamlet  of  Totteridge,  where  he  wrote  and  pub 
lished  that  Paraphrase  on  the  New  Testament  which 
was  made  the  ground  of  his  prosecution  and  trial 
before  Jeffries. 

On  the  I4th  of  the  6th  month,  i68i,he  was  called 
to  endure  the  greatest  affliction  of  his  life.  His 
wife  died  on  that  day,  after  a  brief  illness.  She  who 
had  been  his  faithful  friend,  companion,  and  nurse 
for  twenty  years,  was  called  away  from  him  in  the 
time  of  his  greatest  need  of  her  ministrations.  He 
found  consolation  in  dwelling  on  her  virtues  and 
excellencies  in  the  "  Breviate  "  of  her  life  ;  "  a  paper 
monument,"  he  says,  "  erected  by  one  who  is  fol 
lowing  her  even  at  the  door  in  some  passion  indeed 
of  love  and  grief."  In  the  preface  to  his  poetical 
pieces,  he  alludes  to  her  in  terms  of  touching  sim 
plicity  and  tenderness  :  "As  these  pieces  were  mostly 
written  in  various  passions,  so  passion  hath  now 
thrust  them  out  into  the  world.  God  having  taken 
away  the  dear  companion  of  the  last  nineteen  years 
of  my  life,  as  her  sorrows  and  sufferings  long  ago 
gave  being  to  some  of  these  poems,  for  reasons 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  183, 

which  the  world  is  not  concerned  to  know ;  so  my 
grief  for  her  removal,  and  the  revival  of  the  sense  of 
former  things,  have  prevailed  upon  me  to  be  pas 
sionate  in  the  sight  of  all." 

The  circumstances  of  his  trial  before  the  judicial 
monster,  Jeffries,  are  too  well  known  to  justify  their 
detail  in  this  sketch.  He  was  sentenced  to  pay  a 
fine  of  five  hundred  marks.  Seventy  years  of  age, 
and  reduced  to  poverty  by  former  persecutions,  he 
was  conveyed  to  the  King's  Bench  prison.  Here 
for  two  years  he  lay  a  victim  to  intense  bodily  suf 
fering.  When,  through  the  influence  of  his  old  an 
tagonist,  Penn,  he  was  restored  to  freedom,  he  was 
already  a  dying  man.  But'  he  came  forth  from 
prison  as  he  entered  it,  unsubdued  in  spirit.  Urged 
to  sign  a  declaration  of  thanks  to  James  II,  his  soul 
put  on  the  athletic  habits  of  youth,  and  he  stoutly 
refused  to  commend  an  act  of  toleration  which  had 
given  freedom  not  to  himself  alone,  but  to  Papists 
and  Sectaries.  Shaking  off  the  dust  of  the  Court 
from  his  feet,  he  retired  to  a  dwelling  in  Charter- 
House  Square,  near  his  friend  Sylvester's,  and 
patiently  awaited  his  deliverance.  His  death  was 
quiet  and  peaceful.  "  I  have  pain,"  he  said  to  his 
friend  Mather;  "  there  is  no  arguing  against  sense; 
but  I  have  peace.  I  have  peace."  On  being  asked 
how  he  did,  he  answered,  in  memorable  words, 
"  Almost  well !  " 

He  was  buried  in  Christ  Church,  where  the  re 
mains  of  his  wife  and  her  mother  had  been  placed. 
An  immense  concourse  attended  his  funeral,  of  all 


1 84  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

ranks  and  parties.  Conformist  and  Nonconformist 
forgot  the  bitterness  of  the  controversialist,  and  re 
membered  only  the  virtues  and  the  piety  of  the 
man.  Looking  back  on  his  life  of  self-denial  and 
faithfulness  to  apprehended  duty,  the  men  who 
had  persecuted  him  while  living  wept  over  his 
grave.  During  the  last  few  years  of  his  life,  the  se 
verity  of  his  controversial  tone  had  been  greatly 
softened ;  he  lamented  his  former  lack  of  charity, 
the  circle  of  his  sympathies  widened,  his  social  af 
fections  grew  stronger  with  age,  and  love  for  his 
fellow-men  universally,  and  irrespective  of  religious 
differences,  increased  within  him.  In  his  "  Narra 
tive,"  written  in  the  long,  cool  shadows  of  the  even 
ing  of  life,  he  acknowledges  with  extraordinary  can 
dor  this  change  in  his  views  and  feelings.  He  con 
fesses  his  imperfections  as  a  writer  and  public 
teacher.  "  I  wish,"  he  says,  "  all  over-sharp  pas 
sages  were  expunged  from  my  writings,  and  I  ask 
forgiveness  of  God  and  man."  He  tells  us  that 
mankind  appear  more  equal  to  him  ;  the  good  are 
not  so  good  as  he  once  thought,  nor  the  bad  so  evil ; 
and  that  in  all  there  is  more  for  grace  to  make  advan 
tage  of,  and  more  to  testify  for  God  and  holiness, 
than  he  once  believed.  "  I  less  admire,"  he  con 
tinues,  "  gifts  of  utterance,  and  the  bare  profession 
of  religion,  than  I  once  did,  and  have  now  much 
more  charity  for  those  who  by  want  of  gifts  do 
make  an  obscurer  profession." 

He  laments  the  effects  of  his  constitutional  irrita 
bility  and  impatience  upon  his  social  intercourse  and 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  185 

his  domestic  relations,  and  that  his  bodily  infirmi 
ties  did  not  allow  him  a  free  expression  of  the  ten 
derness  and  love  of  his  heart.  Who  does  not  feel 
the  pathos  and  inconsolable  regret  which  dictated 
the  following  paragraph  ?  "  When  God  forgiveth 
me,  I  cannot  forgive  myself,  especially  for  my  rash 
words  and  deeds  by  which  I  have  seemed  injurious 
and  less  tender  and  kind  than  I  should  have  been  to 
my  near  and  dear  relations,  whose  love  abundantly 
obliged  me.  When  such  are  dead,  though  we  never 
differed  in  point  of  interest  or  any  other  matter, 
every  sour  or  cross  or  provoking  word  which  I  gave 
them,  maketh  me  almost  irreconcilable  to  myself, 
and  tells  me  how  repentance  brought  some  of  old  to 
pray  to  the  dead  whom  they  had  wronged  to  forgive 
them  in  the  hurry  of  their  passion." 

His  pride  as  a  logician  and  skillful  disputant  abated 
in  the  latter  and  better  portion  of  his  life  ;  he  had 
more  deference  to  the  judgment  of  others,  and  more 
distrust  of  his  own.  ''You  admire,"  said  he  to  a 
correspondent  who  had  lauded  his  character,  "  one 
you  do  not  know  ;  knowledge  will  cure  your  error." 
In  his  "  Narrative  "  he  writes  :  "  I  am  much  more 
sensible  than  heretofore  of  the  breadth  and  length 
and  depth  of  the  radical,  universal,  odious  sin  of 
selfishness,  and  therefore  have  written  so  much 
against  it  ;  and  of  the  excellency  and  necessity  of 
self-denial  and  of  a  public  mind,  and  of  loving  our 
neighbors  as  ourselves."  Against  many  difficulties 
and  discouragements,  both  within  himself  and  in  his 
outward  circumstances,  he  strove  to  make  his  life 


1 86  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

and  conversation  an  expression  of  that  Christian 
love,  whose  root,  as  he  has  said  with  equal  truth  and 
beauty, 


is  set 


In  humble  self-denial,  undertrocl, 

While  flower  and  fruit  are  growing  up  to  God.* 

Of  the  great  mass  of  his  writings,  more  volumi 
nous  than  those  of  any  other  author  of  his  time,  it 
would  ill  become  us  to  speak  with  confidence.  We 
are  familiar  only  with  some  of  the  best  of  his  prac 
tical  works,  and  our  estimate  of  the  vast  and  appal 
ling  series  of  his  doctrinal,  metaphysical,  and  contro 
versial  publications,  would  be  entitled  to  small 
weight,  as  the  result  of  very  cursory  examination. 
Many  of  them  relate  to  obsolete  questions  and  issues, 
monumental  of  controversies  long  dead,  and  of  dis 
putatious  doctors  otherwise  forgotten.  Yet,  in  re 
spect  to  even  these,  we  feel  justified  in  assenting  to 
the  opinion  of  one  abundantly  capable  of  appreciat 
ing  the  character  of  Baxter  as  a  writer.  "  What  works 

o 

of  Mr.  Baxter  shall  I  read?  "asked  Boswell  of  Dr. 
Johnson.  "  Read  any  of  them,"  was  the  answer, 
"Mor  they  are  all  good."  He  has  left  upon  all  the 
impress  of  his  genius.  Many  of  them  contain  senti 
ments  which  happily  find  favor  with  few  in  our  time  ; 
philosophical  and  pyschological  disquisitions,  which 
look  oddly  enough  in  the  light  of  the  intellectual 
progress  of  nearly  two  centuries  ;  dissertations  upon 
evil  spirits,  ghosts,  and  witches,  which  provoke  smiles 

*  Poetical  Fragments,  by  R.  Baxter,  p.  16. 


RICHARD   BAXTER.  187 

at   the  good   man's   credulity  ;    but  everywhere  we 
find    unmistakable   evidences  of    his   sincerity  and 
earnest  love  of  truth.     He  wrote  under  a  solemn  im 
pression   of  duty,  allowing  neither  pain  nor  weak 
ness,  nor  the  claims  of  friendship,  nor  the  social  en 
joyments  of  domestic  affection,  to  interfere  with  his 
sleepless  intensity  of  purpose.     He  stipulated  with 
his  wife,  before  marriage,  that  she  should  not  expect 
him  to   relax,  even  for  her  society,  the  severity  of 
his  labors.     He  could  ill  brook  interruption,  and  dis 
liked  the  importunity  of  visitors.     "  We  are  afraid, 
Sir,  we  break  in  upon  your  time,"  said  some  of  his 
callers  to  him  upon  one  occasion.     "  To  be  sure  you 
do,"  was  his  answer.     His  seriousness  seldom  for 
sook  him  ;  there  is  scarce  a  gleam  of  gayety  in  all 
his  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight  volumes.     He  seems 
to  have  relished,  however,  the  wit  of  others,  espe 
cially  when  directed  against  what  he  looked  upon 
as  error.      Marvell's   inimitable   reply  to   the   High 
Church  pretensions  of   Parker  fairly  overcame   his 
habitual  gravity,  and  he  several  times  alludes  to  it 
with  marked  satisfaction ;  but,  for  himself,  he  had 
no   heart  for  pleasantry.     His  writings,  like  his  ser 
mons,  were  the  earnest  expostulations  of  a  dying 
man  with   dying    men.      He   tells  us   of   no    other 
amusement  or  relaxation  than  the  singing  of  psalms. 
"  Harmony  and  melody,"  said  he,  "  are  the  pleasure 
and  elevation  of  my  soul.     It  was  not  the  least  com 
fort  that  I  had  in  the  converse  of  my  late  dear  wife, 
that  our  first  act  in  the  morning  and  last  in  bed  at 
night  was  a  psalm  of  praise." 


1 88  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

It  has  been  fashionable  to  speak  of  Baxter  as  a 
champion  of  civil  and  religious  freedom.  He  has 
little  claim  to  such  a  reputation.  He  was  the  stanch 
advocate  of  monarchy,  and  of  the  right  and  duty  of 
the  State  to  enforce  conformity  to  what  he  regarded 
as  the  essentials  of  religious  belief  and  practice.  No 
one  regards  the  Prelates  who  went  to  the  Tower, 
under  James  II,  on  the  ground  of  conscientious 
scruples  against  reading  the  King's  declaration  of 
toleration  to  Dissenters,  as  martyrs  in  the  cause  of 
universal  religious  freedom.  Nor  can  Baxter,  al 
though  he  wrote  much  against  the  coercion  and 
silencing  of  godly  ministers,  and  suffered  imprison 
ment  himself  for  the  sake  of  a  good  conscience,  be 
looked  upon  in  the  light  of  an  intelligent  and  con 
sistent  confessor  of  liberty.  He  did  not  deny  the 
abstract  right  of  ecclesiastical  coercion,  but  com 
plained  of  its  exercise  upon  himself  and  his  friends 
as  unwarranted  and  unjust. 

One  of  the  warmest  admirers  and  ablest  commen 
tators  of  Baxter  designates  the  leading  and  peculiar 
trait  of  his  character  as  unearthliness.  In  our  view, 
this  was  its  radical  defect.  He  had  too  little  of 
humanity,  he  felt  too  little  of  the  attraction  of  this 
world,  and  lived  too  exclusively  in  the  spiritual  and 
the  unearthly,  for  a  full  and  healthful  development 
of  his  nature  as  a  man,  or  of  the  graces,  charities, 
and  loves  of  the  Christian.  He  undervalued  the 
common  blessings  and  joys  of  life,  and  closed  his 
eyes  and  ears  against  the  beauty  and  harmony  of 
outward  nature.  Humanity,  in  itself  considered, 


RICHARD  BAXTER.  iSf 

seemed  of  small  moment  to  him  ;  "  passing  away  " 
was  written  alike  on  its  wrongs  and  its  rights,  its 
pleasures  and  its  pains ;  death  would  soon  level  all 
distinctions ;  and  the  sorrows  or  the  joys,  the  pov 
erty  or  the  riches,  the  slavery  or  the  liberty  of  the 
brief  day  of  its  probation  seemed  of  too  little  conse 
quence  to  engage  his  attention  and  sympathies. 
Hence,  while  he  was  always  ready  to  minister  to 
temporal  suffering  wherever  it  came  to  his  notice, 
he  made  no  efforts  to  remove  its  political  or  social 
causes.  In  this  respect  he  differed  widely  from 
some  of  his  illustrious  contemporaries.  Penn,  while 
preaching  up  and  down  the  land,  and  writing  theo 
logical  folios  and  pamphlets,  could  yet  urge  the 
political  rights  of  Englishmen,  mount  the  hustings 
for  Algernon  Sydney,  and  plead  for  unlimited  relig 
ious  liberty  ;  and  Vane,  while  dreaming  of  a  coming 
Millennium  and  Reign  of  the  Saints,  and  busily  occu 
pied  in  defending  his  Antinomian  doctrines,  could  at 
the  same  time  vindicate,  with  tongue  and  pen,  the 
cause  of  civil  and  religious  freedom.  But  Baxter  over 
looked  the  evils  and  oppressions  which  were  around 
him,  and  forgot  the  necessities  and  duties  of  the 
world  of  time  and  sense  in  his  earnest  aspirations 
toward  the  world  of  spirits.  It  is  by  no  means  an 
uninstructive  fact,  that  with  the  lapse  of  years  his 
zeal  for  proselytism,  doctrinal  disputations,  and  the 
preaching  of  threats  and  terrors,  visibly  declined, 
while  love  for  his  fellow-men  and  catholic  charity 
greatly  increased,  and  he  was  blessed  with  a  clearer 
perception  of  the  truth  that  God  is  best  served 


190  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

through  His  suffering  children,  and  that  love  and 
reverence  for  visible  humanity  is  an  indispensable 
condition  of  the  appropriate  worship  of  the  Unseen 
God. 

But,  in  taking  leave  of  Richard  Baxter,  our  last 
words  must  not  be  those  of  censure.  Admiration 
and  reverence  become  us  rather.  He  was  an  honest 
man.  So  far  as  we  can  judge,  his  motives  were  the 
highest  and  best  which  can  influence  human  action. 
He  had  faults  and  weaknesses,  and  committed  grave 
errors,  but  we  are  constrained  to  believe  that  the 
prayer  with  which  he  closes  his  "  Saints'  Rest,"  and 
which  we  have  chosen  as  the  fitting  termination  of 
our  article,  was  the  earnest  aspiration  of  his  life. 

"  O  merciful  Father  of  Spirits  !  suffer  not  the 
soul  of  thy  unworthy  servant  to  be  a  stranger  to  the 
joys  which  he  describes  to  others,  but  keep  me, 
while  I  remain  on  earth,  in  daily  breathing  after 
thee,  and  in  a  believing  affectionate  walking  with 
thee !  Let  those  who  shall  read  these  pages  not 
merely  read  the  fruits  of  my  studies,  but  the  breath 
ing  of  my  active  hope  and  love  ;  that  if  my  heart 
were  open  to  their  view,  they  might  there  read  thy 
love  most  deeply  engraven  upon  it  with  a  beam 
from  the  face  of  the  Son  of  God  ;  and  not  find  vanity 
or  lust  or  pride  within  where  the  words  of  life  ap 
pear  without,  that  so  these  lines  may  not  witness 
against  me,  but  proceeding  from  the  heart  of  the 
writer,  be  effectual  through  thy  grace  upon  the 
heart  of  the  reader,  and  so  be  the  savor  of  life  to 
both." 


WILLIAM    LEGGETT. 


*'  OH,  FREEDOM  !  thou  art  not,  as  poets  dream, 
A  fair  young  girl,  with  light  and  delicate  limbs, 
And  wavy  tresses,  gushing  from  the  cap 
With  which  the  Roman  master  crowned  his  slave, 
When  he  took  off  the  gyves.     A  bearded  man, 
Armed  to  the  teeth,  art  thou  ;  one  mailed  hand 
Grasps  the  broad  shield,  and  one  the  sword  ;  thy  brow, 
Glorious  in  beauty  though  it  be,  is  scarred 
With  tokens  of  old  wars  ;  thy  massive  limbs 
Are  strong  with  struggling.     Power  at  thee  has  launched 
His  bolts,  and  with  his  lightnings  smitten  thee  ; 
They  could  not  quench  the  life  thou  hast  from  Heaven." 

— Bryant. 

WHEN  the  noblest  woman  in  all  France  stood  on 
the  scaffold,  just  before  her  execution,  she  is  said  to 
have  turned  toward  the  statue  of  Liberty,  which 
strangely  enough  had  been  placed  near  the  guillo 
tine,  as  its  patron  saint,  with  the  exclamation,  "  Oh, 
Liberty  !  what  crimes  have  been  committed  in  thy 
name!"  It  is  with  a  feeling  akin  to  that  which 
prompted  this  memorable  exclamation  of  Madame 
Roland,  that  the  sincere  lover  of  human  freedom 
and  progress  is  often  compelled  to  regard  American 
Democracy. 

For  democracy,  pure  and  impartial ;  the  self-gov 
ernment  of  the  whole ;  equal  rights  and  privileges, 

191 


19*  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

irrespective  of  birth  or  complexion;  the  morality  of 
the  Gospel  of  Christ,  applied  to  legislation  ;  Chris 
tianity  reduced  to  practice,  and  showering  the  bless 
ings  of  its  impartial  love  and  equal  protection  upon 
all,  like  the  rain  and  dews  of  heaven — we  have  the 
sincerest  love  and  reverence.  So  far  as  our  own 
Government  approaches  this  standard — and,  with 
all  its  faults,  we  believe  it  does  so  more  nearly  than 
any  other — it  has  our  hearty  and  steadfast  alle 
giance.  We  complain  of  and  protest  against  it  only, 
where,  in  its  original  frame-work  or  actual  adminis 
tration,  it  departs  from  the  democratic  principle. 
Holding  with  Novalis,  that  the  Christian  religion  is 
the  root  of  all  democracy,  and  the  highest  fact  is 
the  rights  of  man,  we  regard  the  New  Testament  as 
the  true  political  text-book;  and  believe  that,  just 
in  proportion  as  mankind  receive  its  doctrines  and 
precepts,  not  merely  as  matters  of  faith,  and  relating 
to  another  state  of  being,  but  as  practical  rules,  de 
signed  for  the  regulation  of  the  present  life,  as  well 
as  the  future,  their  institutions,  social  arrangements, 
and  forms  of  government,  will  approximate  to  the 
democratic  model.  We  believe  in  the  ultimate  com 
plete  accomplishment  of  the  mission  of  Him  who 
came  "  to  preach  deliverance  to  the  captive,  and  the 
opening  of  prison  doors  to  them  that  are  bound." 
We  look  forward  to  the  universal  dominion  of  His 
benign  humanity  ;  and,  turning  from  the  strife  and 
blood,  the  slavery,  and  social  and  political  wrongs  of 
the  Past  and  Present,  anticipate  the  realization  in 
the  distant  Future  of  that  state,  when  the  song  of 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  193 

the  angels  at  His  advent  shall  be  no  longer  a  proph 
ecy,  but  the  jubilant  expression  of  a  glorious  re 
ality — "  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest !  Peace  on 
earth,  and  good  will  to  man !  " 

For  the  party  in  this  country  which  has  assumed 
the  name  of  Democracy,  as  a  party,  we  have  had, 
we  confess,  for  some  years  past,  v.ery  little  respect. 
It  has  advocated  many  salutary  measures,  tending  to 
equalize  the  advantages  of  trade,  and  remove  the 
evils  of  special  legislation.  But,  if  it  has  occasion 
ally  lopped  some  of  the  branches  of  the  evil  tree  of 
oppression,  so  far  from  striking  at  its  root,  it  has  suf 
fered  itself  to  be  made  the  instrument  of  nourishing 
and  protecting  it.  It  has  allowed  itself  to  be  called, 
by  its  Southern  flatterers,  "  THE  NATURAL  ALLY  OF 
SLAVERY."  It  has  spurned  the  petitions  of  the  peo 
ple,  in  behalf  of  freedom,  under  its  feet,  in  Congress 
and  State  Legislatures.  Nominally  the  advocate  of 
universal  suffrage,  it  has  wrested  from  the  colored 
citizens  of  Pennsylvania  that  right  of  citizenship, 
which  they  had  enjoyed  under  a  Constitution  framed 
by  Franklin  and  Rush.  Perhaps  the  most  shameful 
exhibition  of  its  spirit  was  made  in  the  late  Rhode 
Island  struggle,  when  the  free  suffrage  Convention, 
solemnly  calling  heaven  and  earth  to  witness  its 
readiness  to  encounter  all  the  horrors  of  civil  war,  in 
defence  of  the  holy  principle  of  equal  and  uni 
versal  suffrage,  deliberately  excluded  colored  Rhode 
Islanders  from  the  privilege  of  voting.  In  the  Con 
stitutional  Conventions  of  Michigan  and  Iowa,  the 
same  party  declared  all  men  equal,  and  then  provided 


194  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

an  exception  to  this  rule  in  the  case  of  the  colored 
inhabitants.  Its  course  on  the  question  of  exclud 
ing  slavery  from  Texas  is  a  matter  of  history,  known 
and  read  of  all. 

After  such  exhibitions  of  its  practice,  its  profes 
sions  have  lost  their  power.  The  cant  of  democracy 
upon  the  lips  of  men  who  are  living  down  its  prin 
ciples,  is,  to  an  earnest  mind,  well-nigh  insufferable. 
Pertinent  were  the  queries  of  Eliphaz  the  Temanite, 
"  Shall  a  man  utter  vain  knowledge,  and  fill  his  belly 
with  the  east  wind  ?  Shall  he  reason  with  unprofit 
able  talk  or  with  speeches,  wherewith  he  can  do  no 
good  ?  "  Enough  of  wearisome  talk  we  have  had 
about  "  progress,"  the  rights  of  "  the  masses/'  the 
"  dignity  of  labor,"  and  "  extending  the  area  of  free 
dom  !  "  "  Clear  your  mind  of  cant,  sir,"  said  John- 
sion  to  Boswell ;  and  no  better  advice  could  be  now 
given  to  a  class  of  our  Democratic  politicians.  Work 
out  your  democracy ;  translate  your  words  into 
deeds  ;  away  with  your  sentimental  generalizations, 
and  come  down  to  the  practical  details  of  your  duty 
as  men  and  Christians.  What  avail  your  abstract 
theories,  your  hopeless  virginity  of  democracy,  sacred 
from  the  violence  of  meanings  ?  A  democracy  which 
professes  to  hold,  as  by  divine  right,  the  doctrine  of 
human  equality  in  its  special  keeping,  and  which,  at 
the  same  time,  gives  its  direct  countenance  and  sup 
port  to  the  vilest  system  of  oppression  on  which  the 
sun  of  heaven  looks,  has  no  better  title  to  the  name 
it  disgraces  than  the  apostate  Son  of  the  Morning 
has  to  his  old  place  in  heaven.  We  are  using  strong 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  195 

language,  for  we  feel  strongly  on  this  subject.  Let 
those  whose  hypocrisy  we  condemn,  and  whose  sins 
against  humanity  we  expose,  remember  that  they 
are  the  publishers  of  their  own  shame,  and  that  they 
have  gloried  in  their  apostasy.  There  is  a  cutting 
severity  in  the  answer  which  Sophocles  puts  in  the 
mouth  of  Electra,  in  justification  of  her  indignant  re 
buke  of  her  wicked  mother : 

Tis  you  that  say  it,  not  I — 
You  do  the  unholy  deeds  which  find  me  words. 

Yet  in  that  party  calling  itself  democratic,  we  re 
joice  to  recognize  true,  generous,  and  thoroughly 
sincere  men  ;  lovers  of  the  word  democracy,  and 
doers  of  it  also,  honest  and  hearty  in  their  worship 
of  Liberty,  who  are  still  hoping  that  the  antagonism 
which  slavery  presents  to  democracy  will  be  per 
ceived  by  the  people,  in  spite  of  the  sophistry  and 
appeals  to  prejudice  by  which  interested  partisans 
have  hitherto  succeeded  in  deceiving  them.  We 
believe  with  such  that  the  mass  of  the  democratic 
voters  of  the  free  States  are  in  reality  friends  of 
freedom,  and  hate  slavery  in  all  its  forms;  and  that, 
with  a  full  understanding  of  the  matter,  they  could 
never  consent  to  be  sold  to  Presidential  aspirants, 
by  political  speculators,  in  lots  to  suit  purchasers, 
and  warranted  to  be  useful  in  putting  down  free 
discussion,  perpetuating  oppression,  and  strengthen 
ing  the  hands  of  modern  feudalism.  They  are  be 
ginning  already  to  see  that,  under  the  process  where- 
by  men  of  easy  virtue  obtain  offices  from  the  Gen- 


196  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

eral  Government,  as  the  reward  of  treachery  to  free 
principles,  the  strength  and  vitality  of  the  party  are 
rapidly  declining.  To  them,  at  least,  democracy- 
means  something  more  than  collectorships,  consu 
lates,  and  governmental  contracts.  For  the  sake  of 
securing  a  monopoly  of  these  to  a  few  selfish  and 
heartless  party  managers,  they  are  not  prepared  to 
give  up  the  distinctive  principles  of  democracy,  and 
substitute  in  their  place  the  doctrines  of  the  Satanic 
school  of  politics.  They  will  not  much  longer  con 
sent  to  stand  before  the  world  as  the  Slavery  party 
of  the  United  States,  especially  when  policy  and  ex 
pediency,  as  well  as  principle,  unite  in  recommend 
ing  a  position  more  congenial  to  the  purposes  of 
their  organization,  the  principles  of  the  fathers  of 
their  political  faith,  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  the 
obligations  of  Christianity. 

The  death-blow  of  slavery  in  this  country  will  be 
given  by  the  very  power  upon  which  it  has  hitherto 
relied  with  so  much  confidence.  Abused  and  in, 
suited  Democracy  will,  ere  long,  shake  off  the  loath 
some  burden  under  which  it  is  now  staggering.  In 
the  language  of  the  late  Theodore  Sedgwick,  of 
Massachusetts,  a  consistent  democrat  of  the  old 
school,  "  Slavery,  in  all  its  forms,  is  anti-democratic 
— an  old  poison  left  in  the  veins,  fostering  the  worst 
principles  of  aristocracy,  pride,  and  aversion  to  la 
bor;  the  natural  enemy  of  the  poor  man,  the  labor 
ing  man,  the  oppressed  man.  The  question  is, 
whether  absolute  dominion  over  any  creature  in  the 
h/Uge  of  man  be  a  wholesome  power  in  a  free  coun- 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  19? 

try;  whether  this  is  a  school  in  which  to  train  the 
young  republican  mind  ;  whether  slave  blood  and- 
free  blood  can  course  healthily  together  in  the  sam* 
body  politic.  Whatever  may  be  present  appear 
ances,  and  by  whatever  name  party  may  choose 
to  call  things,  this  question  must  finally  be  settled 
by  the  democracy  of  the  country. 

This  prediction  was  made  eight  years  ago,  at  a 
time  when  all  the  facts  in  the  case  seemed  against 
the  probability  of  its  truth,  and  when  only  here  and 
there  the  voice  of  an  indignant  freeman  protested 
against  the  exulting  claims  of  the  slave  power  upon 
the  democracy  as  its  "  natural  ally."  The  signs  of 
the  times  now  warrant  the  hope  of  its  fulfillment. 
Over  the  hills  of  the  East,  and  over  the  broad  ter 
ritory  of  the  Empire  State  a  new  spirit  is  moving. 
Democracy,  like  Balaam  upon  Zophim,  has  felt  the 
divine  afflatus,  and  is  blessing  that  which  it  was 
summoned  to  curse. 

The  present  hopeful  state  of  things  is  owing,  in 
no  slight  degree,  to  the  self-sacrificing  exertions  of 
a  few  faithful  and  clear-sighted  men,  foremost 
among  whom  was  the  late  WILLIAM  LEGGETT;  than 
whom  no  one  has  labored  more  perseveringly,  or,  in 
the  end,  more  successfully,  to  bring  the  practice  of 
American  democracy  into  conformity  with  its  pro 
fessions. 

William  Leggett !  Let  our  right  hand  forget  its 
cunning,  when  that  name  shall  fail  to  awaken  gen 
erous  emotions,  and  aspirations  for  a  higher  and 
worthier  manhood !  True  man,  and  true  democrat; 


19*  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

faithful  always  to  liberty,  following  wherever  she 
led,  whether  the  storm  beat  in  his  face  or  on  his 
back;  unhesitatingly  counting  her  enemies  his  own, 
whether  in  the  guise  of  Whig  monopoly  and  selfish 
expediency,  or  democratic  servility  north  of  Mason 
and  Dixon's  line,  toward  democratic  slaveholding 
south  of  it;  poor,  yet  incorruptible;  dependent 
upon  party  favor,  as  a  party  editor,  yet  risking  all 
in  condemnation  of  that  party,  when  in  the  wrong ; 
a  man  of  the  people,  yet  never  stooping  to  flatter 
the  people's  prejudices;  he  is  the  politician,  of  all 
others,  whom  we  would  hold  up  to  the  admiration 
and  imitation  of  the  young  men  of  our  country. 
What  Fletcher  of  Saltoun  is  to  Scotland,  and  the 
brave  spirits  of  the  old  Commonwealth  time! 

Hands  that  penned 

And  tongues  that  uttered  wisdom,  better  none — 
The  later  Sydney,  Marvell,  Harrington, 
Young  Vane,  and  others,  who  called  Milton  friend, 

are  to  England,  should  Leggett  be  to  America. 
His  character  was  formed  on  these  sturdy  demo 
cratic  models.  Had  he  lived  in  their  day,  he  would 
have  scraped  with  old  Andrew  Marvell  the  bare 
blade-bone  of  poverty,  or  even  laid  his  head  on  the 
block  with  Vane,  rather  than  forego  his  independent 
thought  and  speech. 

Of  the  early  life  of  William  Leggett  we  have  no 
very  definite  knowledge.  Born  in  moderate  circum 
stances,  at  first  a  woodsman  in  the  Western  wilder 
ness  ;  then  a  midshipman  in  the  navy ;  then  a 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  199 

denizen  of  New  York,  exposed  to  sore  hardships  and 
perilous  temptations,  he  worked  his  way  by  the 
force  of  his  genius  to  the  honorable  position  of 
associate  editor  of  the  Evening  Post,  the  leading 
Democratic  journal  of  our  great  commercial  metrop 
olis.  Here  he  became  early  distinguished  for  his 
ultraism  in  democracy.  His  whole  soul  revolted 
against  oppression.  He  was  for  liberty  everywhere 
and  in  all  things  ;  in  thought,  in  speech,  in  vote,  in 
religion,  in  government,  and  in  trade ;  he  was  for 
throwing  off  all  restraints  upon  the  right  of  suffrage  ; 
regarding  all  men  as  brethren,  he  looked  with  dis 
approbation  upon  attempts  to  exclude  foreigners 
from  the  rights  of  citizenship  ;  he  was  for  entire 
freedom  of  commerce ;  he  denounced  a  national 
bank ;  he  took  the  lead  in  opposition  to  the  monop 
oly  of  incorporated  banks  ;  he  argued  in  favor  of 
direct  taxation,  and  advocated  a  free  post-office,  or 
a  system  by  which  letters  should  be  transported,  as 
goods  and  passengers  now  are,  by  private  enterprise. 
In  all  this  he  was  thoroughly  in  earnest.  That  he 
often  erred  through  passion  and  prejudice,  cannot 
be  doubted  ;  but  in  no  instance  was  he  found  turn 
ing  aside  from  the  path  which  he  believed  to  be  the 
true  one,  from  merely  selfish  considerations.  He 
was  honest  alike  to  himself  and  the  public.  Every 
question  which  was  thrown  up  before  him  by  the 
waves  of  political  or  moral  agitation,  he  measured 
by  his  standard  of  right  and  truth,  and  condemned 
or  advocated  it,  in  utter  disregard  of  prevailing 
opinions,  of  its  effect  upon  his  pecuniary  interest,  or 


200  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

of  his  standing  with  his  party.  The  vehemence  of 
his  passions  sometimes  betrayed  him  into  violence 
of  language  and  injustice  to  his  opponents  ;  but  he 
had  that  rare  and  manly  trait  which  enables  its 
possessor,  whenever  he  becomes  convinced  of  error, 
to  make  a  prompt  acknowledgment  of  the  convic 
tion. 

In  the  summer  of  1834,  a  series  of  mobs,  directed 
against  the  abolitionists,  who  had  organized  a  national 
society,  with  the  city  of  New  York  as  its  central 
point,  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession.  The 
houses  of  the  leading  men  in  the  society  were  sacked 
and  pillaged  ;  meeting-houses  broken  into  and  de 
faced  ;  and  the  unoffending  colored  inhabitants  of 
the  city  treated  with  the  grossest  indignity,  and 
subjected,  in  some  instances,  to  shameful  personal 
outrage.  It  was  emphatically  a  "  Reign  of  Terror." 
The  press  of  both  political  parties  and  of  the  leading 
religious  sects,  by  appeals  to  prejudice  and  passion, 
and  by  studied  misrepresentation  of  the  designs  and 
measures  of  the  abolitionists,  fanned  the  flame  of 
excitement,  until  the  fury  of  demons  possessed  the 
misguided  populace.  To  advocate  emancipation,  or 
defend  those  who  did  so,  in  New  York,  at  that 
period,  was  like  preaching  democracy  in  Constanti 
nople,  or  religious  toleration  in  Paris  on  the  eve  of 
St.  Bartholomew.  Law  was  prostrated  in  the  dust; 
to  be  suspected  of  abolitionism  was  to  incura  liability 
to  an  indefinite  degree  of  insult  and  indignity  ;  and 
the  few  and  hunted  friends  of  the  slave,  who,  in 
those  nights  of  terror,  laid  their  heads  upon  the 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  201 

pillow,  did  so  with  the  prayer  of  the  Psalmist  on 
their  lips,  "  Defend  me  from  them  that  rise  up 
against  me;  save  me  from  bloody  men." 

At  this  period  the  New  York  Evening  Post 
spoke  out  strongly  in  condemnation  of  the  mob. 
William  Leggett  was  not  then  an  abolitionist ;  he 
had  known  nothing  of  the  proscribed  class,  save 
though  the  cruel  misrepresentations  of  their  enemies  ; 
but,  true  to  his  democratic  faith,  he  maintained  the 
right  to  discuss  the  question  of  slavery.  The  infec 
tion  of  cowardly  fear,  which  at  that  time  sealed  the 
lips  of  multitudes,  who  deplored  the  excesses  of  the 
mob,  and  sympathized  with  its  victims,  never 
reached  him.  Boldly,  indignantly,  he  demanded 
that  the  mob  should  be  put  down  at  once  by  the  civil 
authorities.  He  declared  the  abolitionists,  even  if 
guilty  of  all  that  had  been  charged  upon  them,  fully 
entitled  to  the  privileges  and  immunities  of  Ameri 
can  citizens.  He  sternly  reprimanded  the  board  of 
aldermen  of  the  city,  for  rejecting  with  contempt 
the  memorial  of  the  abolitionists  to  that  body,  ex 
planatory  of  their  principles,  and  the  measures  by 
which  they  had  sought  to  disseminate  them.  Re 
ferring  to  the  determination  expressed  by  the  me 
morialists  in  the  rejected  document,  not  to  recant  or 
relinquish  any  principle  which  they  had  adopted,  but 
to  live  and  die  by  their  faith,  he  said:  "In  this, 
however  mistaken,  however  mad  we  may  consider 
their  opinions  in  relation  to  the  blacks,  what  honest, 
independent  mind  can  blame  them  ?  Where  is  the 
man  so  poor  of  soul,  so  white-livered,  so  base,  that 


202  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

he  would  do  less  in  relation  to  any  important  doo 
trine  in  which  he  religiously  believed?  Where  is 
the  man  who  would  have  his  tenets  drubbed  into  him 
by  the  clubs  of  ruffians,  or  hold  his  conscience  at  the 
dictation  of  a  mob  ?  " 

In  the  summer  of  1835,  a  mob  of  excited  citizens 
broke  open  the  post-office  at  Charleston,  South 
Carolina,  and  burned  in  the  street  such  papers  and 
pamphlets  as  they  judged  to  be  "  incendiary  "  ;  in 
other  words,  such  as  advocated  the  application  of 
the  democratic  principle  to  the  condition  of  the 
slaves  of  the  South.  These  papers  were  addressed 
not  to  the  slave,  but  to  the  master.  They  con 
tained  nothing  which  had  not  been  said  and  written 
by  Southern  men  themselves,  the  Pinkneys,  Jeffer- 
sons,  Henrys,  and  Martins  of  Maryland  and  Vir 
ginia.  The  example  set  at  Charleston  did  not  lack 
imitators.  Every  petty  postmaster  south  of  Mason 
and  Dixon's  line  became  ex-officio  a  censor  of  the 
press.  The  Postmaster-General,  writing  to  his 
subordinate  at  Charleston,  after  stating  that  the 
post-office  department  had  "no  legal  right  to  exclude 
newspapers  from  the  mail,  or  prohibit  their  carriage 
or  delivery,  on  account  of  their  character  or  ten 
dency,  real  or  supposed,"  declared  that  he  would, 
nevertheless,  give  no  aid,  directly  or  indirectly,  in 
circulating  publications  of  an  incendiary  or  inflam 
matory  character;  and  assured  the  perjured  func 
tionary,  who  had  violated  his  oath  of  office,  that, 
while  he  could  not  sanction,  he  would  not  condemn 
his  conduct.  Against  this  virtual  encouragement  of 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  203 

a  flagrant  infringement  of  a  constitutional  right, 
this  licensing  of  thousands  of  petty  government 
officials  to  sit  in  their  mail  offices,  to  use  the  figure 
of  Milton,  cross-legged,  like  so  many  envious  Junos, 
in  judgment  upon  the  daily  offspring  of  the  press, 
taking  counsel  of  passion,  prejudice,  and  popular  ex 
citement,  as  to  what  was  "  incendiary  "  or  "  inflam 
matory,"  the  Evening  Post  spoke  in  tones  of  manly- 
protest. 

While  almost  all  the  editors  of  his  party  through 
out  the  country,  either  openly  approved  of  the  con 
duct  of  the  Postmaster-General,  or  silently  ac 
quiesced  in  it,  William  Leggett,  who,  in  the  absence 
of  his  colleague,  was  at  that  time  sole  editor  of  the 
Post,  and  who  had  everything  to  lose,  in  a  worldly 
point  of  view,  by  assailing  a  leading  functionary  of 
the  government,  who  was  a  favorite  of  "the  Presi 
dent  and  a  sharer  of  his  popularity,  did  not  hesi 
tate  as  to  the  course  which  consistency  and  duty 
required  at  his  hands.  He  took  his  stand  for  un 
popular  truth,  at  a  time  when  a  different  course  on 
his  part  could  not  have  failed  to  secure  him  the 
favor  and  patronage  of  his  party.  In  the  great 
struggle  with  the  Bank  of  the  United  States,  his 
services  had  not  been  unappreciated  by  the  Presi 
dent  and  his  friends.  Without  directly  approving 
the  course  of  the  Administration  on  the  question 
of  the  rights  of  the  abolitionists,  by  remaining  silent 
in  respect  to  it,  he  might  have  avoided  all  suspicion 
of  mental  and  moral  independence  incompatible 
with  party  allegiance.  The  impracticable  honesty 


204  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

of  Leggett,  never  bending  from  the  erectness  ot 
truth  for  the  sake  of  that  "  thrift  which  follows 
fawning,"  dictated  a  most  severe  and  scorching 
review  of  the  letter  of  the  Postmaster-General. 
"  More  monstrous,  more  detestable  doctrines  we 
have  never  heard  promulgated,"  he  exclaimed,  in 
one  of  his  leading  editorials.  "  With  what  face  after 
this,  can  the  Postmaster-General  punish  a  postmas 
ter  for  any  exercise  of  the  fearfully  dangerous 
power  of  stopping  and  destroying  any  portion  of 
the  mails  ?  "  "  The  abolitionists  do  not  deserve  to 
be  placed  on  the  same  footing  with  a  foreign  enemy, 
nor  their  publications  as  the  secret  dispatches  of  a 
spy.  They  are  American  citizens,  in  the  exercise  of 
their  undoubted  right  of  citizenship,  and  however 
erroneous  their  views,  however  fanatic  their  con 
duct,  while  they  act  within  the  limits  of  the  law, 
what  official  functionary,  be  he  merely  a  subordinate 
or  the  head  of  the  post-office  department,  shall  dare 
to  abridge  them  of  their  rights  as  citizens,  and  deny 
them  those  facilities  of  intercourse  which  were  insti 
tuted  for  the  equal  accommodation  of  all  ?  If  the 
American  people  will  submit  to  this,  let  us  expunge 
all  written  codes,  and  resolve  society  into  its  original 
elements,  where  the  might  of  the  strong  is  better 
than  the  right  of  the  weak." 

A  few  days  after  the  publication  of  this  manly  re 
buke,  he  wrote  an  indignantly  sarcastic  article  upon 
the  mobs  which  were  at  this  time  everywhere  sum 
moned  to  "put  down  the  abolitionists."  The  next 
day,  the  4th  of  the  Qth  month,  1835,  he  received  a 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  205 

copy  of  the  Address  of  the  American  Anti-slavery 
Society  to  the  public,  containing  a  full  and  explicit 
avowal  of  all  the  principles  and  designs  of  the  asso 
ciation.  He  gave  it  a  candid  perusal,  weighed  its 
arguments,  compared  its  doctrines  with  those  at  the 
foundation  of  his  own  political  faith,  and  rose  up 
from  its  examination  an  abolitionist.  He  saw  that 
he  himself,  misled  by  the  popular  clamor,  had  done 
injustice  to  benevolent  and  self-sacrificing  men  ;  and 
he  took  the  earliest  occasion,  in  an  article  of  great 
power  and  eloquence,  to  make  the  amplest  atone 
ment.  He  declared  his  entire  concurrence  with 
the  views  of  the  American  Anti-slavery  Society, 
with  the  single  exception  of  a  doubt  which  rested 
on  his  mind  as  to  the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the 
District  of  Columbia.  We  quote  from  the  conclud 
ing  paragraph  of  this  article  : 

"  We  assert  without  hesitation,  that,  if  we  pos 
sessed  the  right,  we  should  not  scruple  to  exercise 
it  for  the  speedy  annihilation  of  servitude  and 
chains.  The  impression  made  in  boyhood  by  the 
glorious  exclamation  of  Cato, 

A  day,  an  hour,  of  virtuous  liberty, 
Is  worth  a  whole  eternity  of  bondage  ! 

has  been  worn  deeper,  not  effaced,  by  time ;  and  we 
eagerly  and  ardently  trust  that  the  day  will  yet 
arrive,  when  the  clank  of  the  bondman's  fetters  will 
form  no  part  of  the  multitudinous  sounds  which  our 
country  sends  up  to  Heaven,  mingling,  as  it  were, 
into  a  song  of  praise  for  our  national  prosperity. 


206  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

We  yearn  with  strong  desire  for  the  day  when  free 
dom  shall  no  longer  wave 

Her  fustian  flag  in  mockery  over  slaves. 

A  few  days  after,  in  reply  to  the  assaults  made 
upon  him  from  all  quarters,  he  calmly  and  firmly 
reiterated  his  determination  to  maintain  the  right 
of  free  discussion  on  the  subject  of  slavery. 

"  The  course  we  are  pursuing,"  said  he,  "  is  one 
which  we  entered  upon  after  mature  deliberation, 
and  we  are  not  to  be  turned  from  it  by  a  species  of 
opposition,  the  inefficacy  of  which  we  have  seen 
displayed  in  so  many  former  instances.  It  is  Philip 
Van  Artevelde,  who  says : 

'  All  my  life  long, 

I  have  beheld  with  most  respect  the  man 
Who  knew  himself,  and  knew  the  ways  before  him  / 
And  from  among  them  chose  considerately, 
With  a  clear  foresight,  not  a  blindfold  courage ; 
And,  having  chosen,  with  a  steadfast  mind 
Pursued  his  purpose/ 

"  This  is  the  sort  of  character  we  emulate.  If,  to 
believe  slavery  a  deplorable  evil  and  curse,  in  what 
ever  light  it  is  viewed  ;  if,  to  yearn  for  the  day 
which  shall  break  the  fetters  of  three  millions  of 
human  beings,  and  restore  to  them  their  birthright 
of  equal  freedom ;  if,  to  be  willing,  in  season  and 
our  of  season,  to  do  all  in  our  power  to  promote  so 
desirable  a  result,  by  all  means  not  inconsistent 
with  higher  duty  ;  if  these  sentiments  constitute  us 
abolitionists,  then  are  we  such,  and  glory  in  the 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  207 

name."  "The  senseless  cry  of  'abolitionist  '  shall 
never  deter  us,  nor  the  more  senseless  attempt  of 
puny  prints  to  read  us  out  of  the  democratic  party. 
The  often  quoted  and  beautiful  saying  of  the  Latin 
historian,  Homo  sum :  humani  nihil  a  me  alienum 
puto,  we  apply  to  the  poor  slave  as  well  as  his 
master,  and  shall  endeavor  to  fulfill  toward  both  the 
obligations  of  an  equal  humanity." 

The  generation  which,  since  the  period  of  which 
we  are  speaking,  have  risen  into  active  life,  can  have 
but  a  faint  conception  of  the  boldness  of  this  move 
ment  on  the  part  of  William  Leggett.  To  be  an 
abolitionist  then  was  to  abandon  all  hope  of  politi 
cal  preferment  or  party  favor  ;  to  be  marked  and 
branded  as  a  social  outlaw,  under  good  society's 
interdict  of  food  and  fire  ;  to  hold  property,  liberty, 
and  life  itself  at  the  mercy  of  a  lawless  mob.  AH 
this  William  Leggett  clearly  saw.  He  knew  how 
rugged  and  thorny  was  the  path  upon  which,  im 
pelled  by  his  love  of  truth  and  the  obligations  of 
humanity,  he  was  entering.  From  hunted  and  pro 
scribed  abolitionists,  and  oppressed  and  spirit-broken 
colored  men,  the  Pariahs  of  American  democracy,  he 
could  alone  expect  sympathy.  The  Whig  journals, 
with  a  few  honorable  exceptions,  exulted  over  what 
they  regarded  as  the  fait  of  a  formidable  opponent; 
and  after  painting  his  abolitionism  in  the  most  hid 
eous  colors,  held  him  up  to  their  Southern  allies  as  a 
specimen  of  the  radical  disorganizers  and  demo 
cratic  levelers  of  the  North.  His  own  party,  in 
consequence,  made  haste  to  proscribe  him.  Gov- 


208  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

ernment  advertising  was  promptly  withdrawn  from 
his  paper.  The  official  journals  of  Washington  and 
Albany  read  him  out  of  the  pale  of  Democracy. 
Father  Ritchie  scolded  and  threatened.  The  Dem 
ocratic  committee  issued  its  bull  against  him  from 
Tammany  Hall.  The  resolutions  of  that  committee 
were  laid  before  him  when  he  was  sinking  under  a 
severe  illness.  Rallying  his  energies,  he  dictated 
from  his  sick  bed  an  answer  marked  by  all  his  ac 
customed  vigor  and  boldness.  Its  tone  was  calm, 
manly,  self-relying;  the  language  of  one  who,  hav 
ing  planted  his  feet  hard  down  on  the  rock  of  prin 
ciple,  stood  there,  like  Luther  at  Worms,  because  he 
"  could  not  otherwise."  Exhausted  nature  sunk 
under  the  effort.  A  weary  sickness  of  nearly  a 
year's  duration  followed.  In  this  sore  affliction,  de 
serted  as  he  was  by  most  of  his  old  political  friends, 
we  have  reason  to  know  that  he  was  cheered  by  the 
gratitude  of  those  in  whose  behalf  he  had  well-nigh 
made  a  martyr's  sacrifice ;  and  that  from  the  hum 
ble  hearths  of  his  poor  colored  fellow-citizens  fer 
vent  prayers  went  up  for  his  restoration. 

His  work  was  not  yet  done.  Purified  by  trial,  he 
was  to  stand  forth  once  more  in  vindication  of  the 
truths  of  freedom.  As  soon  as  his  health  was  suffi 
ciently  re-established,  he  commenced  the  publication 
of  an  independent  political  and  literary  journal, 
under  the  expressive  title  of  THE  PLAINDEALER. 
In  his  first  number  he  stated  that,  claiming  the  right 
of  absolute  freedom  of  discussion,  he  should  exer 
cise  it  with  no  other  limitations  than  those  of  his 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  209 

own  judgment.  A  poor  man,  he  admitted  that  he 
established  the  paper  in  the  expectation  of  deriving 
from  it  a  livelihood,  but  that  even  for  that  object 
he  could  not  trim  its  sails  to  suit  the  varying  breeze 
of  popular  prejudice.  "  If,"  said  he,  "  a  paper  which 
makes  the  Right  and  not  the  Expedient  its  cardinal 
object  will  not  yield  its  conductor  a  support,  there 
are  honest  vocations  that  will,  and  better  the  hum 
blest  of  them  than  to  be  seated  at  the  head  of  an 
influential  press,  if  its  influence  is  not  exerted  to 
promote  the  cause  of  truth."  He  was  true  to  his 
promise.  The  free  soul  of  a  free,  strong  man  spoke 
out  in  his  paper.  How  refreshing  was  it,  after  lis 
tening  to  the  inanities,  the  dull,  witless  vulgarity, 
the  wearisome  commonplace  of  journalists  who  had 
no  higher  aim  than  to  echo,  with  parrot-like  exact 
ness,  current  prejudices  and  falsehoods,  to  turn  to 
the  great  and  generous  thoughts,  the  chaste  and 
vigorous  diction  of  the  Plaindealer !  No  man  ever 
had  a  clearer  idea  of  the  duties  and  responsibilities 
of  a  conductor  of  the  public  press  than  William 
Leggett,  and  few  have  ever  combined  so  many  of  the 
qualifications  for  their  perfect  discharge :  a  nice 
sense  of  justice,  a  warm  benevolence,  inflexible 
truth,  honesty  defying  temptation,  a  mind  stored 
with  learning,  and  having  at  command  the  treasures 
of  the  best  thoughts  of  the  best  authors.  As  was 
said  of  Fletcher  of  Saltoun,  he  was  "  a  gentleman 
steady  in  his  principles,  of  nice  honor,  abundance  of 
learning,  bold  as  a  lion,  a  sure  friend,  a  man  who 
would  lose  his  life  to  serve  his  country,  and  would 


210  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

not  do  a  base  thing  to  save  it."  He  had  his  faults  ; 
his  positive  convictions  sometimes  took  the  shape 
of  a  proud  and  obstinate  dogmatism  ;  he  who  could 
so  well  appeal  to  the  judgment  and  the  reason  of 
his  readers,  too  often  only  roused  their  passions 
by  invective  and  vehement  declamation.  Moderate 
men  were  startled  and  pained  by  the  fierce  energy 
of  his  language  ;  and  he  not  infrequently  made  im 
placable  enemies  of  opponents  .whom  he  might 
have  conciliated  and  won  over  by  mild  expostula 
tion  and  patient  explanation.  It  must  be  urged  in 
extenuation  that,  as  the  champion  of  unpopular 
truths,  he  was  assailed  unfairly  on  all  sides,  and  in 
decently  misrepresented  and  calumniated  to  a  degree, 
as  his  friend  Sedgwick  justly  remarks,  unprecedented 
even  in  the  annals  of  the  American  press,  and  that 
his  errors  in  this  respect  were,  in  the  main,  errors  of 
retaliation. 

In  the  Plaindealer,  in  common  with  the  leading 
moral  and  political  subjects  of  the  day,  that  of 
slavery  was  freely  discussed  in  all  its  bearings.  It 
is  difficult,  in  a  single  extract,  to  convey  an  ade 
quate'  idea  of  the  character  of  the  editorial  columns 
of  a  paper,  where  terse  and  concentrated  irony  and 
sarcasm  alternate  with  eloquent  appeal  and  diffuse 
commentary  and  labored  argument.  We  can  only 
offer  at  random  the  following  passages  from  a  long 
review  of  a  speech  of  John  C.  Calhoun,  in  which 
that  extraordinary  man,  whose  giant  intellect  has 
been  shut  out  of  its  appropriate  field  of  exercise  by 
the  very  slavery  of  which  he  is  the  champion,  under- 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  *n 

took  to  maintain,  in  reply  to  a  Virginia  senator, 
that  chattel  slavery  was  not  an  evil,  but  "  a  great 
good." 

"  We  have  Mr.  Calhoun's  own  warrant  for  attack 
ing  his  position  with  all  the  fervor  which  a  high 
sense  of  duty  can  give,  for  we  do  hold,  from  the 
bottom  of  our  soul,  that  slavery  is  an  evil ;  a  deep, 
detestable,  damnable  evil  ;  evil  in  all  its  aspects  to 
the  blacks,  and  a  greater  evil  to  the  whites  ;  an  evil 
moral,  social,  and  political ;  an  evil  which  shows 
itself  in  the  languishing  condition  of  agriculture 
where  it  exists,  in  paralyzed  commerce,  and  in  the 
prostration  of  the  mechanic  arts;  an  evil  which 
stares  you  in  the  face  from  uncultivated  fields,  and 
howls  in  your  ears  through  tangled  swamps  and 
morasses.  Slavery  is  such  an  evil  that  it  withers 
what  it  touches.  Where  it  is  once  securely  estab 
lished,  the  land  becomes  desolate,  as  the  tree  inevi 
tably  perishes  which  the  sea-hawk  chooses  for  its 
nest ;  while  freedom,  on  the  contrary,  flourishes,  like 
the  tannen,  '  on  the  loftiest  and  least  sheltered 
rocks,'  and  clothes  with  its  refreshing  verdure  what, 
without  it,  would  frown  JH  naked  and  incurable 
sterility. 

"  If  any  one  desires  an  illustration  of  the  opposite 
influences  of  slavery  and  freedom,  let  him  look  at 
the  two  sister  States  of  Kentucky  and  Ohio.  Alike 
in  soil  and  climate,  and  divided  only  by  a  river, 
whose  translucent  waters  reveal,  through  nearly  the 
whole  breadth,  the  sandy  bottom  over  which  they 
sparkle,  how  different  are  they  in  all  the  respects 


212  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

over  which  man  has  control !  On  the  one  hand,  the 
air  is  vocal  with  the  mingled  tumult  of  a  vast  and 
prosperous  population.  Every  hill-side  smiles  with 
an  abundant  harvest,  every  valley  shelters  a  thriving 
village,  the  click  of  a  busy  mill  drowns  the  prattle 
of  every  rivulet,  and  all  the  multitudinous  sounds  of 
business  denote  happy  activity  in  every  branch  of 
social  occupation. 

"  This  is  the  State  which,  but  a  few  years  ago, 
slept  in  the  unbroken  solitude  of  nature.  The 
forest  spread  an  interminable  canopy  of  shade  over 
the  dark  soil  on  which  the  fat  and  useless  vegetation 
rotted  at  ease,  and  through  the  dusky  vistas  of  the 
wood  only  savage  beasts  and  more  savage  men 
prowled  in  quest  of  prey.  The  whole  land  now 
blossoms  like  a  garden.  The  tall  and  interlacing 
trees  have  unlocked  their  hold,  and  bowed  before 
the  woodman's  ax.  The  soil  is  disencumbered  of 
the  mossy  trunks  which  had  reposed  upon  it  for 
ages.  The  rivers  flash  in  the  sunlight,  and  the  fields 
smile  with  waving  harvests.  This  is  Ohio,  and  this 
is  \vhatfreedom  has  done  for  it. 

"  Now,  let  us  turn  to  Kentucky,  and  note  the 
opposite  influences  of  slavery.  A  narrow  and  un 
frequented  path  through  the  close  and  sultry  cane- 
brake  conducts  us  to  a  wretched  hovel.  It  stands 
in  the  midst  of  an  unweeded  field,  whose  dilapidated 
inclosure  scarcely  protects  it  from  the  lowing  and 
hungry  kine.  Children  half-clad  and  squalid,  and 
destitute  of  the  buoyancy  natural  to  their  age, 
lounge  in  the  sunshine,  while  their  parent  saunters 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  213 

apart,  to  watch  his  languid  slaves  drive  the  ill-ap 
pointed  team  afield.  This  is  not  a  fancy  picture.  It 
is  a  true  copy  of  one  of  the  features  which  make  up 
the  aspect  of  the  State,  and  of  every  State  where  the 
moral  leprosy  of  slavery  covers  the  people  with  its 
noisome  scales  ;  a  deadening  lethargy  benumbs  the 
limbs  of  the  body  politic  ;  a  stupor  settles  on  the 
arts  of  life  ;  agriculture  reluctantly  drags  the  plow 
and  harrow  to  the  field,  only  when  scourged  by 
necessity  ;  the  ax  drops  from  the  woodman's  nerve 
less  hand  the  moment  his  fire  is  scantily  supplied 
with  fuel  ;  and  the  fen,  undrained,  sends  up  its 
noxious  exhalations,  to  rack  with  cramps  and  agues 
the  frame  already  too  much  enervated  by  a  moral 
epidemic  to  creep  beyond  the  sphere  of  the  material 
miasm." 

The  Plaindealer  was  uniformly  conducted  with 
eminent  ability  ;  but  its  editor  was  too  far  in  ad 
vance  of  his  contemporaries  to  find  general  accept 
ance,  or  even  toleration.  In  addition  to  pecuniary 
embarrassments,  his  health  once  more  failed,  and  in 
the  autumn  of  1837  he  was  compelled  to  suspend  the 
publication  of  his  paper.  One  of  the  last  articles 
which  he  wrote  for  it,  shows  the  extent  to  which  he 
was  sometimes  carried  by  the  intensity  and  depth  of 
his  abhorrence  of  oppression,  and  the  fervency  of 
his  adoration  of  liberty.  Speaking  of  the  liability 
of  being  called  upon  to  aid  the  master  in  the  subjec 
tion  of  revolted  slaves,  and  in  replacing  their  cast- 
off  fetters,  he  thus  expresses  himself:  "Would  we 
comply  with  such  a  requisition  ?  No  !  Rather 


214  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

would  we  see  our  right  arm  lopped  from  our  body, 
and  the  mutilated  trunk  itself  gored  with  mortal 
wounds,  than  raise  a  ringer  in  opposition  to  men 
struggling  in  the  holy  cause  of  freedom.  The 
obligations  of  citizenship  are  strong,  but  those  of 
justice,  humanity,  and  religion,  stronger.  We  earn 
estly  trust  that  the  great  contest  of  opinion,  which 
is  now  going  on  in  this  country,  may  terminate  in 
the  enfranchisement  of  the  slaves,  without  recourse 
to  the  strife  of  blood ;  but  should  the  oppressed 
bondmen,  impatient  of  the  tardy  progress  of  truth, 
urged  only  in  discussion,  attempt  to  burst  their 
chains  by  a  more  violent  and  shorter  process,  they 
should  never  encounter  our  arm  nor  hear  our  voice 
in  the  ranks  of  their  opponents.  We  should  stand 
a  sad  spectator  of  the  conflict ;  and,  whatever  com 
miseration  we  might  feel  for  the  discomfiture  of  the 
oppressors,  we  should  pray  that  the  battle  might 
end  in  giving  freedom  to  the  oppressed." 

With  the  Plaindealer,  his  connection  with  the 
public,  in  a  great  measure,  ceased.  His  steady  and 
intimate  friend,  personal  as  well  as  political,  Theo 
dore  Sedgwick,  Jun.,  a  gentleman  who  has  on  many 
occasions  proved  himself  worthy  of  his  liberty-loving 
ancestry,  thus  speaks  of  him  in  his  private  life  at 
this  period:  "Amid  the  reverses  of  fortune,  har 
assed  by  pecuniary  embarrassments,  during  the  tor 
tures  of  a  disease  which  tore  away  his  life  piecemeal, 
he  ever  maintained  the  same  manly  and  unaltered 
front,  the  same  cheerfulness  of  disposition,  the  same 
dignity  of  conduct.  No  humiliating  solicitation,  no 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  215, 

weak  complaint,  escaped  him."  At  the  election  in 
the  fall  of  1838,  the  noble-spirited  democrat  was  not 
wholly  forgotten.  A  strenuous  effort,  which  was 
well  nigh  successful,  was  made  to  secure  his  nomi 
nation  as  a  candidate  for  Congress.  It  was  at  this 
juncture  that  he  wrote  to  a  friend  in  the  city,  from 
his  residence  at  New  Rochelle,  one  of  the  noblest 
letters  ever  penned  by  a  candidate  for  popular  favor. 
The  following  extracts  will  show  how  a  true  man 
can  meet  the  temptations  of  political  life : 

"What  I  am  most  afraid  of  is,  that  some  of  my 
friends,  in  their  too  earnest  zeal,  will  place  me  in  a 
false  position  on  the  subject  of  slavery.  I  am  an 
abolitionist.  I  hate  slavery  in  all  its  forms,  degrees, 
and  influences;  and  I  deem  myself  bound,  by  the 
highest  moral  and  political  obligations,  not  to  let 
that  sentiment  of  hate  lie  dormant  and  smoldering 
in  my  own  breast,  but  to  give  it  free  vent,  and  let  it 
blaze  forth,  that  it  may  kindle  equal  ardor  through 
the  whole  sphere  of  my  influence.  I  would  not 
have  this  fact  disguised  or  mystified  for  any  office 
the  people  have  it  in  their  power  to  give.  Rather, 
a  thousand  times  rather,  would  I  again  meet  the 
denunciations  of  Tammany  Hall,  and  be  stigma 
tized  with  all  the  foul  epithets  with  which  the  anti- 
abolition  vocabulary  abounds,  than  recall  or  deny 
one  tittle  of  my  creed.  Abolition  is,  in  my  sense,  a 
necessary  and  a  glorious  part  of  democracy ;  and  I 
hold  the  right  and  duty  to  discuss  the  subject  of 
slavery,  and  to  expose  its  hideous  evils  in  all  their 
bearings — moral,  social,  and  political — as  of  infi- 


2i6  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

nitely  higher  importance  than  to  carry  fifty  sub- 
treasury  bills.  That  I  should  discharge  this  duty 
temperately;  that  I  should  not  let  it  come  in  col 
lision  with  other  duties ;  that  I  should  not  let  my 
hatred  of  slavery  transcend  the  express  obligations 
of  the  constitution,  or  violate  its  clear  spirit,  I  hope 
and  trust  you  think  sufficiently  well  of  me  to  believe. 
But  what  I  fear  is  (not  from  you,  however),  that 
some  of  my  advocates  and  champions  will  seek  to 
recommend  me  to  popular  support,  by  representing 
me  as  not  an  abolitionist,  which  is  false.  All  that  I 
have  written,  gives  the  lie  to  it.  All  I  shall  write, 
will  give  the  lie  to  it. 

"  And  here,  let  me  add  (apart  from  any  consider 
ation  already  adverted  to)  that,  as  a  matter  of  mere 
policy,  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  have  my  name  dis 
joined  from  abolitionism.  To  be  an  abolitionist 
now  is  to  be  an  incendiary ;  as  three  years  ago,  to 
be  an  anti-monopolist,  was  to  be  a  leveler  and  a  Jack 
Cade.  See  what  three  short  years  have  done  in 
effecting  the  anti-monopoly  reform  ;  and  depend 
upon  it,  that  the  next  three  years,  or,  if  not  three, 
say  three  times  three,  if  you  please,  will  work  a 
greater  revolution  on  the  slavery  question.  The 
stream  of  public  opinion  now  sets  against  us;  but  it 
is  about  to  turn,  and  the  regurgitation  will  be  tre 
mendous.  Proud  in  that  day  may  well  be  the  man 
who  can  float  in  triumph  on  the  first  refluent  wave, 
swept  onward  by  the  deluge  which  he  himself,  in 
advance  of  his  fellows,  has  largely  shared  in  occa 
sioning.  Such  be  my  fate ;  and,  living  or  dead,  it 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  117 

will,  in  some  measure,  be  mine !  I  have  written  my 
name  in  ineffaceable  letters  on  the  abolition  record  ; 
and  whether  the  reward  ultimately  come  in  the 
shape  of  honors  to  the  living  man,  or  a  tribute  to 
the  memory  of  a  departed  one,  I  would  not  forfeit 

my  right  to  it  for  as  many  offices  as has  in  his 

gift,  if  each  of  them  was  greater  than  his  own." 

After  mentioning  that  he  had  understood  that 
some  of  his  friends  had  endeavored  to  propitiate 
popular  prejudice  by  representing  him  as  no  abo 
litionist,  he  says: 

"  Keep  them,  for  God's  sake,  from  committing 
any  such  fooleries  for  the  sake  of  getting  me  into 
Congress.  Let  others  twist  themselves  into  what 
shapes  they  please,  to  gratify  the  present  taste  of 
the  people ;  as  for  me,  I  am  not  formed  of  such 
pliant  materials,  and  choose  to  retain,  undisturbed, 
the  image  of  my  God !  I  do  not  wish  to  cheat  the 
people  of  their  votes.  I  would  not  get  their  sup 
port,  any  more  than  their  money,  under  false  pre 
tenses.  I  am  what  I  am ;  and,  if  that  does  not  suit 
them,  I  am  content  to  stay  at  home." 

God  be  praised  for  affording  us,  even  in  these 
latter  days,  the  sight  of  an  honest  man !  Amid 
the  heartlessness,  the  double-dealing,  the  evasions, 
the  prevarications,  the  shameful  treachery  and  false 
hood  of  political  men  of  both  parties,  in  respect  to 
the  question  of  slavery,  how  refreshing  is  it  to  listen 
to  words  like  these  !  They  renew  our  failing  faith 
in  human  nature.  They  reprove  our  weak  misgiv 
ings.  We  rise  up  from  their  perusal  stronger  and 


218  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

healthier.  With  something  of  the  spirit  which 
dictated  them,  we  renew  our  vows  to  freedom,  and, 
with  manlier  energy,  gird  up  our  souls  for  the  stern 
struggle  before  us. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  and  as  he  himself 
predicted,  the  efforts  of  his  friends  to  procure  his 
nomination  failed  ;  but  the  same  generous  appre- 
ciators  of  his  rare  worth  were  soon  after  more  suc 
cessful  in  their  exertions  in  his  behalf.  He  received 
from  President  Van  Buren  the  appointment  of  the 
mission  to  Guatemala  ;  an  appointment  which,  in 
addition  to  honorable  employment  in  the  service  of 
his  country,  promised  him  the  advantages  of  a  sea 
voyage,  and  a  change  of  climate,  for  the  restoration 
of  his  health.  The  course  of  Martin  Van  Buren  on 
the  subject  of  slavery,  in  the  District  of  Columbia, 
forms,  in  the  estimation  of  many  of  his  best  friends, 
by  no  means  the  most  creditable  portion  of  his 
political  history  ;  but  it  certainly  argues  well  for  his 
magnanimity  and  freedom  from  merely  personal 
resentment,  that  he  gave  this  appointment  to  the 
man  who  had  animadverted  upon  that  course  with 
the  greatest  freedom,  and  whose  rebuke  of  the  veto 
pledge,  severe  in  its  truth  and  justice,  formed  the 
only  discord  in  the  paean  of  partisan  flattery  which 
greeted  his  inaugural.  But,  however  well  intended, 
it  came  too  late.  In  the  midst  of  the  congratula 
tions  of  his  friends  on  the  brightening  prospect 
before  him,  the  still  hopeful  and  vigorous  spirit  of 
William  Leggett  was  summoned  away  by  death. 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  219 

Universal  regret  was  awakened.  Admiration  of  his 
intellectual  power,  and  that  generous  and  full  appre 
ciation  of  his  high  moral  worth,  which  had  been  in 
too  many  instances  withheld  from  the  living  man 
by  party  policy  and  prejudice,  were  now  freely 
accorded  to  the  dead.  The  presses  of  both  politi 
cal  parties  vied  with  each  other  in  expressions  of 
sorrow  at  the  loss  of  a  great  and  true  man.  The 
Democracy,  through  all  its  organs,  hastened  to 
canonize  him  as  one  of  the  saints  of  its  calendar. 
The  general  committee,  in  New  York,  expunged 
their  resolutions  of  censure.  The  Democratic  Re 
view,  at  that  period  the  most  respectable  mouth 
piece  of  the  Democratic  party,  made  him  the  subject 
of  exalted  eulogy.  His  early  friend  and  co-editor, 
WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT,  laid  upon  his  grave  the 
following  tribute,  alike  beautiful  and  true  : 


The  earth  may  ring,  from  shore  to  shore, 
With  echoes  of  a  glorious  name, 

But  he  whose  loss  our  tears  deplore 
Has  left  behind  him  more  than  fame. 

For  when  the  death-frost  came  to  lie 
On  Leggett's  warm  and  mighty  heart, 

And  quenched  his  bold  and  friendly  eye, 
His  spirit  did  not  all  depart. 

The  words  of  fire  that  from  his  pen 
He  flung  upon  the  lucid  page, 

Still  move,  still  shake  the  hearts  of  men, 
Amid  a  cold  and  coward  age. 


220  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

His  love  of  Truth,  too  warm,  too  strong, 
For  Hope  or  Fear  to  chain  or  chill, 

His  hate  of  tyranny  and  wrong, 

Burn  in  the  breasts  they  kindled  still. 


So  lived  and  died  William  Leggett.  What  a  re 
buke  of  party  perfidy,  of  political  meanness,  of  the 
common  arts  and  stratagems  of  demagogues,  comes 
up  from  his  grave!  How  the  cheek  of  mercenary 
selfishness  crimsons  at  the  thought  of  his  incorrupti 
ble  integrity  !  How  heartless  and  hollow  pretenders, 
who  offer  lip  service  to  freedom,  while  they  give 
their  hands  to  whatever  work  their  slaveholding 
managers  may  assign  them  ;  who  sit  in  chains  round 
the  crib  of  governmental  patronage,  putting  on 
the  spaniel,  and  putting  off  the  man,  and  making 
their  whole  lives  a  miserable  lie,  shrink  back  from  a 
contrast  with  the  proud  and  austere  dignity  of  his 
character  !  What  a  comment  on  their  own  condition 
is  the  memory  of  a  man  who  could  calmly  endure 
the  loss  of  party  favor,  the  reproaches  of  his  friends, 
the  malignant  assaults  of  his  enemies,  and  the  fret 
ting  evils  of  poverty,  in  the  hope  of  bequeathing, 
like  the  dying  testator  of  Ford, 

A  fame  by  scandal  untouched, 
To  Memory  and  Time's  old  daughter,  Truth. 

The  praises  which  such  men  are  now  constrained 
to  bestow  upon  him  are  their  own  condemnation. 
Every  stone  which  they  pile  upon  his  grave  is  writ 
ten  over  with  the  record  of  their  hypocrisy. 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  221 

We  have  written  rather  for  the  living  than  the 
dead.  As  one  of  that  proscribed  and  hunted  band 
of  Abolitionists,  whose  rights  were  so  bravely  de 
fended  by  William  Leggett,  we  should,  indeed,  be 
wanting  in  ordinary  gratitude,  not  to  do  honor  to 
his  memory ;  but  we  have  been  actuated  at  the 
present  time  mainly  by  a  hope  that  the  character, 
the  lineaments  of  which  we  have  so  imperfectly 
sketched,  may  awaken  a  generous  emulation  in  the 
hearts  of  the  young  democracy  of  our  country. 
Democracy  such  as  William  Leggett  believed  and 
practiced,  democracy  in  its  full  and  all-comprehen 
sive  significance,  is  destined  to  be  the  settled  politi 
cal  faith  of  this  republic.  Because  the  despotism 
of  slavery  has  usurped  its  name,  and  offered  the 
strange  incense  of  human  tears  and  blood  on  its  pro 
faned  altars,  shall  we,  therefore,  abandon  the  only 
political  faith  which  coincides  with  the  Gospel  of 
Jesus,  and  meets  the  aspirations  and  wants  of 
humanity?  No.  The  duty  of  the  present  genera 
tion  in  the  United  States  is  to  reduce  this  faith  to 
practice  ;  to  make  the  beautiful  ideal  a  fact. 

"  Every  American,"  says  Leggett,  "  who  in  any 
way  countenances  slavery,  is  derelict  to  his  duty,  as 
a  Christian,  a  patriot,  a  man  ;  and  every  one  does 
countenance  and  authorize  it  who  suffers  any  oppor 
tunity  of  expressing  his  deep  abhorrence  of  its 
manifold  abominations  to  pass  unreproved."  The 
whole  world  has  an  interest  in  this  matter.  The  in 
fluence  of  our  democratic  despotism  is  exerted 
against  the  liberties  of  Europe.  Political  reformers 


222  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

in  the  Old  World,  who  have  testified  to  their  love  of 
freedom  by  serious  sacrifices,  hold  but  one  language 
on  this  point.  They  tell  us  that  American  slavery 
furnishes  kings  and  aristocracies  with  their  most 
potent  arguments  ;  that  it  is  a  perpetual  drag  on  the 
wheel  of  political  progress. 

We  have  before  us,  at  this  time,  a  letter  from 
Siedensticker,  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  patriotic 
movement  in  behalf  of  German  liberty  in  1831.  It 
was  written  from  the  prison  of  Celle,  where  he  had 
been  confined  for  eight  years.  The  writer  expresses 
his  indignant  astonishment  at  the  speeches  of  John 
C.  Calhoun,  and  others  in  Congress,  on  the  slavery 
question,  and  deplores  the  disastrous  influence  of 
our  great  inconsistency  upon  the  cause  of  freedom 
throughout  the  world  ;  an  influence  which  paralyzes 
the  hands  of  the  patriotic  reformer,  while  it 
strengthens  those  of  his  oppressor,  and  deepens 
around  the  living  martyrs  and  confessors  of  Euro 
pean  democracy  the  cold  shadow  of  their  prisons. 

Joseph  Sturge,  of  Birmingham,  the  President  of 
the  British  Free  Suffrage  Union,  and  whose  philan 
thropy  and  democracy  have  been  vouched  for  by 
the  Democratic  Review  in  this  country,  has  the  fol 
lowing  passage  in  an  address  to  the  citizens  of  the 
United  States  :  "  Although  an  admirer  of  the  insti 
tutions  of  your  country,  and  deeply  lamenting  the 
evils  of  my  own  government,  I  find  it  difficult  to 
reply  to  those  who  are  opposed  to  any  extension  of 
the  political  rights  of  Englishmen,  when  they  point 
to  America,  and  say,  that  where  all  have  a  control 


WILLIAM  LEGGETT.  223 

over  the  legislation  but  those  who  are  guilty  of  a 
dark  skin,  slavery  and  the  slave  trade  remain,  not 
only  unmitigated,  but  continue  to  extend;  and  that 
while  there  is  an  onward  movement  in  favor  of  its 
extinction,  not  only  in  England  and  France,  but  in 
Cuba  and  Brazil,  American  legislators  cling  to  this 
enormous  evil,  without  attempting  to  relax  or  miti 
gate  its  horrors." 

How  long  shall  such  appeals,  from  such  sources, 
be  wasted  upon  us  ?  Shall  our  baleful  example  en 
slave  the  world  ?  Shall  the  tree  of  democracy, 
which  our  fathers  intended  for  "  the  healing  of  the 
nations,"  be  to  them  like  the  fabled  Upas,  blighting 
all  around  it  ? 

The  men  of  the  North,  the  pioneers  of  the  free 
West,  and  the  non-slaveholders  of  the  South  must 
answer  these  questions.  It  is  for  them  to  say 
whether  the  present  well-nigh  intolerable  evil  shall 
continue  to  increase  its  boundaries,  and  strengthen 
its  hold  upon  the  government,  the  political  parties, 
and  the  religious  sects  of  our  country.  Interest  and 
honor,  present  possession  and  future  hope,  the 
memory  of  fathers,  the  prospects  of  children,  grati 
tude,  affection,  the  still  call  of  the  dead,  the  cry  of 
oppressed  nations  looking  hitherward  for  the  result 
of  all  their  hopes,  the  voice  of  God  in  the  soul,  in 
revelation,  and  in  his  providence,  all  appeal  to  them 
for  a  speedy  and  righteous  decision.  At  this  mo 
ment,  on  the  floor  of  Congress,  Democracy  and 
Slavery  have  met  in  a  death-grapple.  The  South 
stands  firm  ;  it  allows  no  party  division  on  the  slave 


224  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

question.  One  of  its  members  has  declared  that 
"  the  slave  States  have  no  traitors."  Can  the  same 
be  said  of  the  free?  Now,  as  in  the  time  of  the 
fatal  Missouri  compromise,  there  are,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  political  peddlers  among  our  representatives, 
whose  souls  are  in  the  market,  and  whose  con 
sciences  are  vendible  commodities.  Through  their 
means  the  slave  power  may  gain  a  temporary 
triumph  ;  but  may  not  the  very  baseness  of  the 
treachery  arouse  the  Northern  heart  ?  By  driving 
the  free  States  to  the  wall,  may  it  not  compel  them 
to  turn  and  take  an  aggressive  attitude,  clasp  hands 
over  the  altar  of  their  common  freedom,  and  swear 
eternal  hostility  to  slavery? 

Be  the  issue  of  the  present  contest  what  it  may, 
those  who  are  faithful  to  freedom  should  allow  no 
temporary  reverse  to  shake  their  confidence  in  the 
ultimate  triumph  of  the  right.  The  slave  will  be 
free.  Democracy  in  America  will  yet  be  a  glorious 
reality  ;  and  when  the  topstone  of  that  temple  of 
freedom  which  our  fathers  left  unfinished  shall  be 
brought  forth  with  shoutings  and  cries  of  grace  unto 
it ;  when  our  now  drooping  liberty  lifts  up  her  head 
and  prospers,  happy  will  he  be  who  can  say,  with 
John  Milton,  "Among  those  who  have  something 
more  than  wished  her  welfare,  I  too  have  my  charter 
and  freehold  of  rejoicing  to  me  and  my  heirs." 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS. 


And  Lamb,  the  frolic  and  the  gentle, 
Has  vanished  from  his  kindly  hearth. 

So,  in  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  pathetic  of 
his  poems  touching  the  loss  of  his  literary  friends, 
sang  Wordsworth.  We  well  remember  with  what 
freshness  and  vividness  these  simple  lines  came  be 
fore  us,  on  hearing,  last  autumn,  of  the  death  of  the 
warm-hearted  and  gifted  friend  whose  name  heads 
this  article  ;  for  there  was  much  in  his  character 
and  genius  to  remind  us  of  the  gentle  author  of 
"  Elia."  He  had  the  latter's  genial  humor  and 
quaintness;  his  nice  and  delicate  perception  of  the 
beautiful  and  poetic ;  his  happy,  easy  diction,  not 
the  result,  as  in  the  case  of  that  of  the  English 
essayist,  of  slow  and  careful  elaboration,  but  the 
natural,  spontaneous  language  in  which  his  concep 
tions  at  once  embodied  themselves,  apparently  with- 
out  any  consciousness  of  effort.  As  Mark  Antony 
talked,  he  wrote,  "  right  on,"  telling  his  readers 
often  what  "  they  themselves  did  know,"  yet  im 
parting  to  the  simplest  commonplaces  of  life  in 
terest  and  significance,  and  throwing  a  golden  haze 
of  poetry  over  the  rough  and  thorny  pathways  of 

••5 


226  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

everyday  duty.  Like  Lamb,  he  loved  his  friends 
without  stint  or  limit.  The  "old  familiar  faces" 
haunted  him.  Lamb  loved  the  streets  and  lanes  of 
London,  the  places  where  he  oftenest  came  in  con 
tact  with  the  warm,  genial  heart  of  humanity,  bet 
ter  than  the  country.  Rogers  loved  the  wild  and 
lonely  hills  and  valleys  of  New  Hampshire  none  the 
less  that  he  was  fully  alive  to  the  enjoyments  of 
society,  and  could  enter  with  the  heartiest  sympathy 
into  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  his  friends  and 
neighbors. 

In  another  point  of  view,  he  was  not  unlike  Elia. 
He  had  the  same  love  of  home,  and  home  friends, 
and  familiar  objects ;  the  same  fondness  for  com 
mon  sights  and  sounds  ;  the  same  dread  of  change ; 
the  same  shrinking  from  the  unknown  and  the  dark. 
Like  him,  he  clung  with  a  child's  love  to  the  living 
present,  and  recoiled  from  a  contemplation  of  the 
great  change  which  awaits  us.  Like  him,  he  was 
content  with  the  goodly  green  earth,  and  human 
countenances,  and  would  fain  set  up  his  tabernacle 
here.  He  had  less  of  what  might  be  termed  self- 
indulgence  in  this  feeling  than  Lamb.  He  had 
higher  views  ;  he  loved  this  world  not  only  for  its 
own  sake,  but  for  the  opportunities  it  afforded  of 
doing  good.  Like  the  Persian  Seer,  he  beheld  the 
legions  of  Ormuzd  and  Ahriman,  of  Light  and  Dark 
ness,  contending  for  mastery  over  the  earth,  as  the 
sunshine  and  shadow  of  a  gusty,  half-cloudy  day 
struggled  on  the  green  slopes  of  his  native  moun 
tains  ;  and,  mingled  with  the  bright  host,  he  would 


NATHANIEL   PEA  BODY  ROGERS.  227 

fain  have  fought  on  until  its  banners  waved  in  eter 
nal  sunshine  over  the  last  hiding-place  of  darkness. 
He  entered  into  the  work  of  reform  with  the  enthu 
siasm  and  chivalry  of  a  knight  of  the  crusades.  He 
had  faith  in  human  progress,  in  the  ultimate  triumph 
of  the  good  ;  millennial  lights  beaconed  up  all  along 
his  horizon.  In  the  philanthropic  movements  of 
the  day  ;  in  the  efforts  to  remove  the  evils  of  slavery, 
war,  intemperance,  and  sanguinary  laws;  in  the  hu 
mane  and  generous  spirit  of  much  of  our  modern 
poetry  and  literature  ;  in  the  growing  demand  of  the 
religious  community,  of  all  sects,  for  the  preaching 
of  the  Gospel  of  Love  and  Humanity,  he  heard  the 
low  and  tremulous  prelude  of  the  great  anthem  of 
Universal  Harmony.  "  The  world,"  said  he,  in  a 
notice  of  the  music  of  the  Hutchinson  family,  "is 
out  of  tune  now.  But  it  will  be  tuned  again,  and 
all  will  become  harmony."  In  this  faith  he  lived 
and  acted ;  working,  not  always,  as  it  seemed  to 
some  of  his  friends,  wisely,  but  bravely,  truthfully, 
earnestly,  cheering  on  his  fellow-laborers,  and  im 
parting  to  the  dullest  and  most  earthward-looking 
of  them  something  of  his  own  zeal  and  loftiness  of 
purpose. 

"  Who  was  he  ?  "  does  the  reader  ask  ?  Naturally 
enough,  too,  for  his  name  has  never  found  its  way 
into  fashionable  reviews ;  it  has  never  been  associ 
ated  with  tale  or  essay  or  poem,  to  our  knowledge. 
Our  friend  Griswold,  who,  like  another  Noah,  has 
launched  some  hundreds  of  American  "  poets  "  and 
prose  writers  on  the  tide  of  immortality  in  his  two 


228  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

huge  arks  of  rhyme  and  reason,  has  either  overlooked 
his  name,  or  deemed  it  unworthy  of  preservation. 
Then,  too,  he  was  known  mainly  as  the  editor  of 
a  proscribed  and  every-where-spoken-against  anti- 
slavery  paper.  It  had  few  readers  of  literary  taste 
and  discrimination  ;  plain,  earnest  men  and  women, 
intent  only  upon  the  thought  itself,  and  caring  little 
for  the  clothing  of  it,  loved  the  Herald  of  Freedom 
for  its  honestness  and  earnestness,  and  its  bold  re 
bukes  of  the  wrong,  its  all-surrendering  homage  to 
what  its  editor  believed  to  be  right.  But  the  lit 
erary  world  of  authors  and  critics  saw  and  heard 
little  or  nothing  of  him  or  his  writings.  "  I  once 
had  a  bit  of  scholarcraft,"  he  says  of  himself  on  one 
occasion,  "  and  had  I  attempted  it  in  some  pitiful 
sectarian  or  party  or  literary  sheet,  I  should  have 
stood  a  chance  to  get  quoted  into  the  periodicals. 
Now,  who  dares  quote  from  the  Herald  of  Free 
dom?"  He  wrote  for  humanity,  as  his  biographer 
justly  says,  not  for  fame.  "  He  wrote  because  he 
had  something  to  say,  and  true  to  nature;  for  to 
him  nature  was  truth ;  he  spoke  right  on,  with  the 
artlessness  and  simplicity  of  a  child." 

He  was  born  in  Plymouth,  New  Hampshire,  in 
the  6th  month  of  1/94;  a  lineal  descendant  from 
John  Rogers,  of  martyr-memory.  Educated  at 
Dartmouth  College,  he  studied  law  with  Hon. 
Richard  Fletcher,  of  Salisbury,  New  Hampshire, 
now  of  Boston,  and  commenced  the  practice  of  it,  in 
1819,  in  his  native  village.  He  was  diligent  and 
successful  in  his  profession,  although  seldom  known 


NATHANIEL  PEA  BODY  ROGERS.  229 

as  a  pleader.  About  the  year  1833  he  became  in 
terested  in  the  anti-slavery  movement.  His  was 
one  of  the  few  voices  of  encouragement  and  sympa 
thy  which  greeted  the  author  of  this  sketch  on  the 
publication  of  a  pamphlet  in  favor  of  immediate 
emancipation.  He  gave  us  a  kind  word  of  approval, 
and  invited  us  to  his  mountain  home,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Pemigewasset,  an  invitation  which,  two  years 
afterward,  we  accepted.  In  the  early  autumn,  in 
company  with  George  Thompson  (the  eloquent 
Reformer,  who  has  since  been  elected  a  member  of 
the  British  Parliament  from  the  Tower  Hamlets),  we 
drove  up  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  White  Moun 
tain  tributary  of  the  Merrimac,  and,  just  as  a  glori 
ous  sunset  was  steeping  river,  valley,  and  mountain, 
in  its  hues  of  heaven,  were  welcomed  to  the  pleas 
ant  home  and  family  circle  of  our  friend  Rogers. 
We  spent  two  delightful  evenings  with  him.  His 
cordiality,  his  warm-hearted  sympathy  in  our  object, 
his  keen  wit,  inimitable  humor,  and  childlike  and 
simple  mirthfulness,  his  full  appreciation  of  the 
beautiful  in  art  and  nature,  impressed  us  with  the 
conviction  that  we  were  the  guest  of  no  ordinary 
man  ;  that  we  were  communing  with  unmistakable 
genius;  such  an  one  as  might  have  added  to  the  wit 
and  eloquence  of  Ben  Jonson's  famous  club  at  the 
Mermaid,  or  that  which  Lamb,  and  Coleridge,  and 
Southey  frequented  at  the  "  Salutation  and  Cat," 
of  Smithfield.  "  The  most  brilliant  man  I  have  met 
in  America!  "  said  George  Thompson,  as  we  left  the 
hospitable  door  of  our  friend. 


23°  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

In  1838  he  gave  up  his  law  practice,  left  his  fine 
outlook  at  Plymouth  upon  the  mountains  of  the 
North,  Moose  Hillock  and  the  Haystacks,  and  took 
up  his  residence  at  Concord,  for  the  purpose  of 
editing  the  Herald  of  Freedom,  an  anti-slavery 
paper  which  had  been  started  some  three  or  four 
years  before.  John  Pierpont,  than  whom  there 
could  not  be  a  more  competent  witness,  in  his  brief 
and  beautiful  sketch  of  the  life  and  writings  of 
Rogers,  does  not  over-estimate  the  ability  with 
which  the  Herald  was  conducted,  when  he  says  of 
its  editor :  "  As  a  newspaper  writer,  we  think  him 
unequaled  by  any  living  man  ;  and  in  the  general 
strength,  clearness,  and  quickness  of  his  intellect, 
we  think  all  who  knew  him  well  will  agree  with  us, 
that  he  was  not  excelled  by  any  editor  in  the  coun 
try."  He  was  not  a  profound  reasoner ;  his  imagi 
nation  and  brilliant  fancy  played  the  wildest  tricks 
with  his  logic  ;  ^et,  considering  the  way  by  which  he 
reached  them,  it  is  remarkable  that  his  conclusions 
were  so  often  correct.  The  tendency  of  his  mind 
was  to  extremes.  A  zealous  Calvinistic  church 
member,  he  became  an  equally  zealous  opponent  of 
churches  and  priests  ;  a  warm  politician,  he  became 
an  ultra  non-resistant  and  no-government  man.  In 
all  this,  his  sincerity  was  manifest.  If,  in  the  in 
dulgence  of  his  remarkable  powers  of  sarcasm,  in 
the  free  antics  of  a  humorous  fancy,  upon  whose 
graceful  neck  he  had  flung  loose  the  reins,  he  some 
times  did  injustice  to  individuals,  and  touched,  in 
irreverent  ^port,  the  hem  of  sacred  garments,  it  had 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS.  231 

the  excuse,  at  least,  of  a  generous  and  honest  mo 
tive.  If  he  sometimes  exaggerated,  those  who  best 
knew  him  can  testify  that  he  "  set  down  naught  in 
malice." 

We  have  before  us  a  printed  collection  of  his  writ 
ings:  hasty  editorials,  flung  off  without  care  or  re 
vision;  the  offspring  of  sudden  impulse  frequently; 
always  free,  artless,  unstudied;  the  language  trans 
parent  as  air,  exactly  expressing  the  thought.  He 
loved  the  common,  simple  dialect  of  the  people — the 
41  beautiful  strong  old  Saxon — the  talk  words."  He 
had  an  especial  dislike  of  learned  and  "  dictionary 
words."  He  used  to  recommend  Cobbett's  Works  to 
"every  young  man  and  woman  who  has  been  hurt  in 
his  or  her  talk  and  writing  by  going  to  school." 

Our  limits  will  not  admit  of  such  extracts  from 
the  "Collection  "  of  his  writings  as  would  convey  to 
our  readers  an  adequate  idea  of  his  thought  and 
manner.  His  descriptions  of  natural  scenery  glow 
with  life.  One  can  almost  see  the  sunset  light  flood 
ing  the  Franconia  Notch,  and  glorifying  the  peaks 
of  Moose  Hillock,  and  hear  the  murmur  of  the  west 
wind  in  the  pines,  and  the  light,  liquid  voice  of 
Pemigewasset  sounding  up  from  its  rocky  channel, 
through  its  green  hem  of  maples,  while  reading  them. 
We  give  a  brief  extract  from  an  editorial  account  of 
an  autumnal  trip  to  Vermont: 

"  We  have  recently  journeyed  through  a  portion 
of  this  free  State;  and  it  is  not  all  imagination  in  us, 
that  sees,  in  its  bold  scenery,  its  uninfected  inland 
position,  its  mountainous,  but  fertile  and  verdant 


232  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

surface,  the  secret  of  the  noble  predisposition  of  its 
people.  They  are  located  for  freedom.  Liberty's 
home  is  on  their  Green  Mountains.  Their  farmer 
republic  nowhere  touches  the  ocean,  the  highway  of 
the  world's  crimes,  as  well  as  its  nations.  It  has  no 
seaport  for  the  importation  of  slavery,  or  the  exporta 
tion  of  its  own  highland  republicanism.  Should 
slavery  ever  prevail  over  this  nation,  to  its  utter  sub 
jugation,  the  last  lingering  footsteps  of  retiring  lib 
erty  will  be  seen,  not,  as  Daniel  Webster  said,  in  the 
proud  old  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  about 
Bunker  Hill  and  Faneuil  Hall  ;  but  she  will  be  found 
wailing,  like  Jephthah's  daughter,  among  the  '  hol 
lows '  and  along  the  sides  of  the  Green  Mountains. 

"  Vermont  shows  gloriously  at  this  autumn  season. 
Frost  has  gently  laid  hands  on  her  exuberant  vegeta 
tion,  tinging  her  rock-maple  woods  without  abating 
the  deep  verdure  of  her  herbage.  Everywhere 
along  her  peopled  hollows  and  her  bold  hill-slopes 
and  summits,  the  earth  is  alive,  with  green,  while  her 
endless  hardivood  forests  are  uniformed  with  all  the 
hues  of  early  fall,  richer  than  the  regimentals  of  the 
kings  that  glittered  in  the  train  of  Napoleon  on  the 
confines  of  Poland,  when  he  lingered  there,  on  the 
last  outposts  of  summer,  before  plunging  into  the 
snow-drifts  of  the  North  ;  more  gorgeous  than  the 
array  of  Saladin's  life-guard  in  the  wars  of  the  cru 
saders,  or  of  *  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,'  decked  in  all 
colors  and  hues,  but  still  the  hues  of  life.  Vegeta 
tion  touched,  but  not  dead,  or,  if  killed,  not  bereft 
yet  of  '  signs  of  life.'  '  Decay's  effacing  ringers  '  had 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS.  233 

not  yet  'swept  the  hills'  'where  beauty  lingers.' 
All  looked  fresh  as  growing  foliage.  Vermont  frosts 
don't  seem  to  be  '  killing  frosts.'  They  only  change 
aspects  of  beauty.  The  mountain  pastures,  verdant 
to  the  peaks,  and  over  the  peaks  of  the  high  steep 
hills,  were  covered  with  the  amplest  feed,  and  clothed 
with  countless  sheep;  the  hay-fields  heavy  with 
second  crop,  in  some  partly  cut  and  abandoned,  as  if 
in  very  weariness  and  satiety,  blooming  with  honey 
suckle,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  colors  on  the 
woods ;  the  fat  cattle  and  the  long-tailed  colts  and 
the  close-built  Morgans  wallowing  in  it  up  to  the 
eyes,  or  the  cattle  down  to  rest,  with  full  bellies,  by 
ten  in  the  morning.  Fine  but  narrow  roads  wound 
along  among  the  hills,  free  almost  entirely  of  stone, 
and  so  smooth  as  to  be  safe  for  the  most  rapid  driv 
ing,  made  of  their  rich,  dark,  powder-looking  soil. 
Beautiful  villages  or  scattered  settlements  breaking 
upon  the  delighted  view  on  the  meandering  way, 
making  the  ride  a  continued  scene  of  excitement  and 
animation.  The  air  fresh,  free,  and  wholesome  ;  the 
road  almost  dead  level  for  miles  and  miles,  among 
mountains  that  lay  over  the  land  like  the  great 
swells  of  the  sea,  and  looking  in  the  prospect  as 
though  there  could  be  no  passage." 

To  this  autumnal  limning,  the  following  spring 
picture  may  be  a  fitting  accompaniment : 

"  At  last  spring  is  here  in  full  flush.  Winter  held 
on  tenaciously  and  mercilessly,  but  it  has  let  go. 
The  great  sun  is  high  on  his  northern  journey,  and 
the  vegetation,  and  the  bird-singing,  and  the  loud 


*34  PORTRAITS  AND    SKETCHES. 

frog-chorus,  the  tree  budding  and  blowing  are  all 
upon  us;  and  the  glorious  grass,  superbest  of 
earth's  garniture,  with  its  ever-satisfying  green. 
The  king-birds  have  come,  and  the  corn-planter,  the 
scolding  bob-a-link.  '  Plant  your  corn,  plant  your 
corn/  says  he,  as  he  scurries  athwart  the  plowed 
ground,  hardly  lifting  his  crank  wings  to  a  level  with 
his  back,  so  self-important  is  he  in  his  admonitions. 
The  earlier  birds  have  gone  to  housekeeping,  and 
have  disappeared  from  the  spray.  There  has  been 
brief  period  for  them,  this  spring,  for  scarcely  has 
the  deep  snow  gone,  but  the  dark-green  grass  has 
come,  and  first  we  shall  know,  the  ground  will  be 
yellow  with  dandelions. 

"  I  incline  to  thank  Heaven,  this  glorious  morning 
of  May  i6th,  for  the  pleasant  home  from  which  we 
can  greet  the  spring.  Hitherto  we  have  had  to 
await  it  amid  a  thicket  of  village  houses,  low  down, 
close  together,  and  awfully  white.  For  a  prospect,. 
we  had  the  hinder  part  of  an  ugly  meeting-house, 
which  an  enterprising  neighbor  relieved  us  of  by 
planting  a  dwelling-house  right  before  our  eyes  (on 
his  own  land,  and  he  had  a  right  to),  which  relieved 
us  also  of  all  prospect  whatever.  And  the  revival 
spirit  of  habitation  which  has  come  over  Concord, 
is  clapping  up  a  house  between  every  two  in  the 
already  crowded  town  ;  and  the  prospect  is,  it  will 
be  soon  all  buildings.  They  are  constructing,  in 
quite  good  taste  though,  small,  trim,  cottage-like. 
But  I  had  rather  be  where  I  can  breathe  air,  and  see 
kejond  my  own  features,  than  be  smothered  among. 


NATHANIEL   PEA  BODY  ROGERS.  235 

the  prettiest  houses  ever  built.  We  are  on  the  slope 
of  a  hill;  it  is  all  sand,  be  sure,  on  all  four  sides  of 
us,  but  the  air  is  free  (and  the  sand,  too,  at  times), 
and  our  water,  there  is  danger  of  hard  drinking  to 
live  by  it.  Air  and  water,  the  two  necessaries  of 
life,  and  high,  free  play-ground  for  the  small  ones. 
There  is  a  sand  precipice  hard  by,  high  enough,  were 
it  only  rock  and  overlooked  the  ocean,  to  be  as  sub 
lime  as  any  of  the  Nahant  cliffs.  As  it  is,  it  is  alto 
gether  a  safer  haunt  for  daring  childhood,  which 
could  hardly  break  its  neck  by  a  descent  of  some 
hundreds  of  feet. 

"A  low  flat  lies  between  us  and  the  town,  with 
its  State-house  and  body-guard  of  well-proportioned 
steeples  standing  round.  It  was  marshy  and  wet, 
but  is  almost  all  redeemed  by  the  translation  into  it 
of  the  high  hills  of  sand.  It  must  have  been  a  ter 
rible  place  for  frogs,  judging  from  what  remains  of 
it.  Bits  of  water,  from  the  springs  hard  by,  lay  here 
and  there  about  the  low  ground,  which  are  peopled 
as  full  of  singers  as  ever  the  gallery  of  the  old  North 
Meeting-house  was,  and  quite  as  melodious  ones. 
Such  performers  I  never  heard,  in  marsh  or  pool. 
They  are  not  the  great,  stagnant,  bull  paddocks,  fat 

and  coarse-noted  like  Parson ,  but  clear-water 

frogs,  green,  lively,  and  sweet-voiced.  I  passed 
their  orchestra  going  home  the  other  evening,  with 
a  small  lad,  and  they  were  at  it,  all  parts ;  ten  thou 
sand  peeps,  shrill,  ear-piercing,  and  incessant,  coming 
up  from  every  quarter,  accompanied  by  a  second^ 
from  some  larger  swimmer  with  his  trombone,  and 


236  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

broken  in  upon,  every  now  and  then,  but  not  dis 
cordantly,  with  the  loud  quick  hallo,  that  resembles 
the  cry  of  the  tree-toad.  'There  are  the  Hutchin- 
sons,'  cried  the  lad.  'The  Rainers,'  responded  I, 
glad  to  remember  enough  of  my  ancient  Latin,  to 
know  that  Rana,  or  some  such  sounding  word,  stood 
for  frog.  But  it  was  a  '  band  of  music,'  as  the 
Miller  friends  say.  Like  other  singers  (all  but  the 
Hutchinsons)  these  are  apt  to  sing  too  much,  all  the 
time  they  are  awake,  constituting  really  too  much 
of  a  good  thing.  I  have  wondered  if  the  little  rep 
tiles  were  singing  in  concert,  or  whether  every  one 
peeped  on  his  own  hook,  their  neighborhood  only 
making  it  a  chorus.  I  incline  to  the  opinion  that 
they  are  performing  together,  that  they  know  the 
tune,  and  each  carries  his  part,  self-selected,  in  free 
meeting,  and  therefore  never  discordant.  The  hour 
rule  of  Congress  might  be  useful,  though  far  less 
needed  among  the  frogs  than  among  the  profane 
croakers  of  the  fens  at  Washington." 

Here  is  a  sketch  of  the  mountain  scenery  of  New 
Hampshire,  as  seen  from  the  Holderness  Mountain, 
or  North  Hill,  during  a  visit  which  he  made  to  his 
native  valley,  in  the  autumn  of  1841  : 

"The  earth  sphered  up  all  around  us,  in  every 
quarter  of  the  horizon,  like  the  crater  of  a  vast  vol 
cano,  and  a  great  hollow  within  the  mountain  circle 
was  as  smoky  as  Vesuvius  or  Etna  in  their  recess  of 
eruption.  The  little  village  of  Plymouth  lay  right 
at  our  feet,  with  its  beautiful  expanse  of  intervale 
opening  on  the  eye  like  a  lake  among  the  woods 


NATHANIEL  PEABODY  ROGERS.  237 

and  hills,  and  the  Pemigewasset,  bordered  along  its 
crooked  way  with  rows  of  maples,  meandering  from 
upland  to  upland  through  the  meadows.  Our 
young  footsteps  had  wandered  over  these  localities. 
Time  had  cast  it  all  far  back,  that  Pemigewasset 
with  its  meadows  and  border  trees ;  that  little  vil 
lage  whitening  in  the  margin  of  its  intervale  ;  and 
that  one  house  which  we  could  distinguish,  where 
the  mother,  that  watched  over  and  endured  our 
wayward  childhood,  totters  at  four-score. 

"  To  the  south  stretched  a  broken,  swelling  upland 
country,  but  champaign  from  the  top  of  North  Hill, 
patched  all  over  with  grain-fields  and  green  wood 
lots,  the  roofs  of  the  farmhouses  shining  in  the  sun. 
Southwest,  the  Cardigan  Mountain  showed  its  bald 
forehead  among  the  smokes  of  a  thousand  fires, 
kindled  in  the  woods  in  the  long  drought.  West- 
ward,  Moose  Hillock  heaved  up  its  long  back,  black 
as  a  whale  ;  and  turning  the  eye  on  northward, 
glancing  down  the  while  on  the  Baker's  River  val 
ley,  dotted  over  with  human  dwellings,  like  shingle 
bunches  for  size,  you  behold  the  great  Franconia 
Range,  its  *  Notch  '  and  its  Haystacks,  the  Elephant 
Mountain  on  the  left,  and  Lafayette  (Great  Hay 
stack)  on  the  right,  shooting  its  peak  in  solemn  lone 
liness  high  up  into  the  desert  sky,  and  overtopping 
all  the  neighboring  Alps  but  Mount  Washington  it 
self.  The  prospect  of  these  is  most  impressive  and 
satisfactory.  We  don't  believe  the  earth  presents  a 
finer  mountain  display.  The  Haystacks  stand  there 
like  the  Pyramids  on  the  wall  of  mountains.  One 


PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

of  them  eminently  has  this  Egyptian  shape.  It  is 
as  accurate  a  pyramid  to  the  eye  as  any  in  the  old 
valley  of  the  Nile,  and  a  good  deal  bigger  than  any 
of  those  hoary  monuments  of  human  presumption, 
of  the  impious  tyranny  of  monarchs  and  priests,  and 
of  the  appalling  servility  of  the  erecting  multitude. 
Arthur's  Seat  in  Edinburgh  does  not  more  finely 
resemble  a  sleeping  lion  than  the  huge  mountain  on 
the  left  of  the  Notch  does  an  elephant,  with  his 
great,  overgrown  rump  turned  uncivilly  toward  the 
gap  where  the  people  have  to  pass.  Following 
round  the  panorama,  you  come  to  the  Ossipees  and 
the  Sandwich  Mountains,  peaks  innumerable  and 
nameless,  and  of  every  variety  of  fantastic  shape. 
Down  their  vast  sides  are  displayed  the  melancholy- 
looking  slides,  contrasting  with  the  fathomless 
woods. 

"  But  the  lakes — you  see  lakes,  as  well  as  woods 
and  mountains,  from  the  top  of  North  Hill.  New 
found  Lake  in  Hebron,  only  eight  miles  distant,  you 
cant  see,  it  lies  too  deep  among  the  hills.  Ponds 
show  their  small  blue  mirrors  from  various  quarters 
of  the  great  picture  :  Worthen's  Mill  Pond  and  the 
Hardhack,  where  we  used  to  fish  for  trout  in  truant, 
bare-footed  days,  Blair's  Mill  Pond,  White  Oak 
Pond,  and  Long  Pond,  and  the  Little  Squam,  a 
beautiful,  dark  sheet  of  deep,  blue  water,  about  two 
miles  long,  stretched  amid  the  green  hills  and 
woods,  with  a  charming  little  beach  at  its  eastern 
end,  and  without  an  island.  And  then  the  Great 
Squam,  connected  with  it  on  the  east  by  a  short, 


NATHANIEL   PEABODY  ROGERS.  239 

narrow  stream,  the  very  queen  of  ponds,  with  its 
fleet  of  islands,  surpassing  in  beauty  all  the  foreign 
waters  we  have  seen,  in  Scotland  or  elsewhere, — the 
islands  covered  with  evergreens,  which  impart  then 
hue  to  the  mass  of  the  lake,  as  it  stretches  seven 
miles  on  east  from  its  smaller  sister,  toward  the 
peerless  Winnipisockee.  Great  Squam  is  as  beauti 
ful  as  water  and  island  can  be.  But  Winnipisockee, 
it  is  the  very  '  Smile  of  the  Great  Spirit.'  It  looks 
as  if  it  had  a  thousand  islands  ;  some  of  them  large 
enough  for  little  towns,  and  others  not  bigger  than 
a  swan  or  a  wild  duck,  swimming  on  its  surface  of 
glass." 

His  wit  and  sarcasm  were  generally  too  good- 
natured  to  provoke  even  their  unfortunate  objects, 
playing  all  over  his  editorials  like  the  thunderless 
lightnings  which  quiver  along  the  horizon  of  a  night 
of  summer  calmness  ;  but  at  times  his  indignation 
launched  them  like  bolts  from  heaven.  Take  the 
following  as  a  specimen.  He  is  speaking  of  the  gag 
rule  of  Congress,  and  commending  Southern  repre 
sentatives  for  their  skillful  selection  of  a  proper  per 
son  to  do  their  work  : 

"  They  have  a  quick  eye  at  the  South  to  the 
character,  or,  as  they  would  say,  the  points  of  a 
slave.  They  look  into  him  shrewdly,  as  an  old 
jockey  does  into  a  horse.  They  will  pick  him  out, 
at  rifle-shot  distance,  among  a  thousand  freemen. 
They  have  a  nice  eye  to  detect  shades  of  vassalage. 
They  saw  in  the  aristocratic,  popinjay  strut  of  a 
counterfeit  Democrat,  an  itching  aspiration  to  play 


240  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

the  slaveholder.  They  beheld  it  in  '  the  cut  of  his 
jib,'  and  his  extreme  Northern  position  made  him 
the  very  tool  for  their  purpose.  The  little  creature 
has  struck  at  the  right  of  petition.  A  paltrier  hand 
never  struck  at  a  noble  right.  The  Eagle  Right  of 
Petition  !  so  loftily  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  the  Consti 
tution  that  Congress  can't  begin  to  '  ABRIDGE '  it,  in 
its  pride  of  place,  is  hawked  £t  by  this  crested  jay 
bird.  A*  mousing  owl.'  would  have  seen  better  at 
midnoon,  than  to  have  done  it.  It  is  an  idiot  blue- 
jay,  such  as  you  see  fooling  about  among  the  scrub 
oaks  and  dwarf  pitch  pines  in  the  winter.  What  an 
ignominious  death  to  the  lofty  right,  were  it  to  die 
by  such  a  hand  ;  but  it  does  not  die.  It  is  impal 
pable  to  the  'malicious  mockery'  of  such  'vain 
blows.'  We  are  glad  it  is  done — done  by  the 
South — done  proudly,  and  in  slaveholding  style,  by 
the  hand  of  a  vassal.  What  a  man  does  by  another 
he  does  by  himself,  says  the  maxim.  But  they  will 
disown  the  honor  of  it,  and  cast  it  on  the  despised 
'free  nigger '  North." 

Or  this  description,  not  very  flattering  to  the 
"  Old  Commonwealth,"  of  the  treatment  of  the 
agent  of  Massachusetts  in  South  Carolina : 

"  Slavery  may  perpetrate  anything,  and  New 
England  can't  see  it.  It  can  horsewhip  the  old 
Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  and  spit  in  her 
governmental  face,  and  she  will  not  recognize  it  as 
an  offense.  She  sent  her  agent  to  Charleston  on  a 
State  embassy.  Slavery  caught  him,  and  sent  him 
ignominiously  home.  The  solemn  great  man  came 


NATHANIEL   PEABODY  ROGERS.  241 

back  in  a  hurry.  He  returned  in  a  most  undignified 
trot.  He  ran  ;  he  scampered — the  stately  official. 
The  Old  Bay  State  actually  pulled  foot,  cleared, 
dug,  as  they  say,  like  any  scamp  with  a  hue  and  cry 
after  him.  Her  grave  old  senator,  who  no  more 
thought  of  having  to  break  his  stately  walk  than  he 
had  of  being  flogged  at  school  for  stealing  apples, 
came  back  from  Carolina  upon  the  full  run,  out  of 
breath,  and  out  of  dignity.  Well,  what's  the  result? 
Why,  nothing.  She  no  more  thinks  of  showing 
resentment  about  it  than  she  would  if  lightning  had 
struck  him.  He  was  sent  back  '  by  the  visitation  of 
God ' ;  and  if  they  had  lynched  him  to  death,  and 
stained  the  streets  of  Charleston  with  his  blood,  a 
Boston  jury,  if  they  could  have  held  inquest  over 
him,  would  have  found  that  he  '  died  by  the  visita 
tion  of  God/  And  it  would  have  been  '  crowner's 
quest  law,'  Slavery's  '  crowner's.'  ' 

Here  is  a  specimen  of  his  graceful  blending  of 
irony  and  humor.  He  is  expostulating  with  his 
neighbor  of  the  New  Hampshire  Patriot,  assuring 
him  that  he  cannot  endure  the  ponderous  weight  of 
his  arguments,  begging  for  a  little  respite,  and,  as  a 
means  of  obtaining  it,  urging  the  editor  to  travel. 
He  advises  him  to  go  South,  to  the  White  Sulphur 
Springs,  and  thinks  that,  despite  of  his  dark  com 
plexion,  he  would  be  safe  there  from  being  sold  for 
jail  fees,  as  his  pro-slavery  merits  would  more  than 
counterbalance  his  colored  liabilities,  which,  after  all, 
were  only  prima  facie  evidence  against  him.  He 
suggests  Texas,  also,  as  a  place  where  "  patriots  "  of 


24*  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

a  certain  class  "  most  do  congregate,"  and  continues 
as  follows : 

"  There  is  Arkansas,  too,  all  glorious  in  new 
born  liberty,  fresh  and  unsullied,  like  Venus  out  of 
the  ocean — that  newly  discovered  star  in  the  firma 
ment  banner  of  this  republic.  Sister  Arkansas,  with 
her  bowie-knife  graceful  at  her  side,  like  the  hunt 
ress  Diana  with  her  silver  bow ;  oh,  it  would  be  re 
freshing  and  recruiting  to  an  exhausted  patriot  to 
go  and  replenish  his  soul  at  her  fountains.  The 
newly  evacuated  lands  of  the  Cherokee,  too  ;  a  sweet 
place  now  for  a  lover  of  his  country  to  visit,  to  re. 
new  his  self-complacency  by  wandering  among  the 
quenched  hearths  of  the  expatriated  Indians  ;  a  land 
all  smoking  with  the  red  man's  departing  curse  ;  a 
malediction  that  went  to  the  center.  Yes,  and 
Florida — blossoming  and  leafy  Florida,  yet  warm 
with  life-blood  of  Osceola  and  his  warriors,  shed 
gloriously  under  flag  of  truce.  Why  should  a  pa 
triot  of  such  a  fancy  for  nature  immure  himself  in 
the  cells  of  the  city,  and  forego  such  an  inviting  and 
so  broad  a  landscape  ?  lie,  viator.  Go  forth,  trav 
eler,  and  leave  this  moldy  editing  to  less  elastic 
fancies.  We  would  respectfully  invite  our  Colonel 
to  travel.  What  signifies?  Journey — wander — go 
forth — itinerate — exercise — perambulate — roam." 

He  gives  the  following  ludicrous  definition  of 
Congress : 

"But  what  is  Congress?  It  is  the  echo  of  the 
country  at  home ;  the  weathercock,  that  denotes 
and  answers  the  shifting  wind  ;  a  thing  of  tail, 


NATHANIEL  PEA  BODY  ROGERS.  24$ 

nearly  all  tail,  moved  by  the  tail  and  by  the  wind, 
with  small  heading,  and  that  corresponding  implic 
itly  in  movement  with  the  broad  sail-like  stern, 
which  widens  out  behind  to  catch  the  rum-fraught 
breath  of  '  the  Brotherhood.'  As  that  turns,  it 
turns;  when  that  stops,  it  stops;  and  in  calmish 
weather  looks  as  steadfast  and  firm  as  though  it  was 
riveted  to  the  center.  The  wind  blows,  and  the  lit 
tle  popularity-hunting  head  dodges  this  way  and 
that,  in  endless  fluctuation.  Such  is  Congress,  or  a 
great  portion  of  it.  It  will  point  to  the  northwest 
heavens  of  Liberty,  whenever  the  breezes  bear  down 
irresistibly  upon  it,  from  the  regions  of  political  fair 
weather.  It  will  abolish  slavery  at  the  Capitol  when 
it  has  already  been  doomed  to  abolition  and  death 
everywhere  else  in  the  country.  '  It  will  be  in  at 
death.'  " 

Replying  to  the  charge  that  the  abolitionists  of 
the  North  were  "secret"  in  their  movements  and 
designs,  he  says  : 

11 1  In  secret ! '  Why,  our  movements  have  been 
as  prominent  and  open  as  the  house-tops  from  the 
beginning.  We  have  striven  from  the  outset  to 
write  the  whole  matter  cloud-high  in  the  heavens, 
that  the  utmost  South  might  read  it.  We  have 
cast  an  arc  upon  the  horizon,  like  the  semicircle  of 
the  polar  lights,  and  upon  it  have  bent  our  motto, 
1  IMMEDIATE  EMANCIPATION,' glorious  as  the  rain 
bow.  We  have  engraven  it  there,  on  the  blue  table 
of  the  cold  vault,  in  letters  tall  enough  for  the  read 
ing  of  the  nations.  And  why  has  the  far  South  not 


244  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

read  and  believed  before  this?  Because  a  steam 
has  gone  up,  a  fog,  from  New  England's  pulpit 
and  her  degenerate  press,  and  hidden  the  beaming 
revelation  from  its  vision.  The  Northern  hierarchy 
and  aristocracy  have  cheated  the  South." 

He  spoke  at  times  with  severity  of  slaveholders, 
but  far  oftener  of  those  who,  without  the  excuse  of 
education  and  habit,  and  prompted  only  by  a  selfish 
consideration  of  political  or  sectarian  advantage, 
apologized  for  the  wrong,  and  discountenanced  the 
anti-slavery  movement.  "  We  have  nothing  to  say," 
said  he,  "  to  the  slave.  He  is  no  party  to  his  own 
enslavement,  he  is  none  to  his  disenthrallment. 
We  have  nothing  to  say  to  the  South.  The  real 
holder  of  slaves  is  not  there.  He  is  in  the  North, 
the  free  North.  The  South  alone  has  not  the  power 
to  hold  the  slave.  It  is  the  character  of  the  nation 
that  binds  and  holds  him.  It  is  the  Republic  that 
does  it ;  the  efficient  force  of  which  is  north  of 
Mason  and  Dixon's  line.  By  virtue  of  the  majority 
of  Northern  hearts  and  voices,  slavery  lives  in  the 
South!" 

In  1840  he  spent  a  few  weeks  in  England,  Ire 
land,  and  Scotland.  He  has  left  behind  a  few  beau 
tiful  memorials  of  his  tour.  His  "  Ride  over  the 
Border,"  "  Ride  into  Edinburgh,"  "  Wincobank  Hall/* 
"  Ailsa  Craig,"  gave  his  paper  an  interest  in  the 
eyes  of  many  who  had  no  sympathy  with  his  politi 
cal  and  religious  views. 

Scattered  all  over  his  editorials,  like  gems,  are  to 
be  found  beautiful  images,  sweet  touches  of  heart- 


NATHANIEL   PEA  BODY  ROGERS.  245 

felt  pathos;  thoughts  which  the  reader  pauses  over 
with  surprise  and  delight.  We  subjoin  a  few  speci 
mens,  taken  almost  at  random  from  the  book  be 
fore  us : 

"  A  thunderstorm — what  can  match  it  for  elo 
quence  and  poetry?  That  rush  from  heaven  of  the 
big  drops,  in  what  multitude  and  succession,  and 
how  they  sound  as  they  strike!  How  they  play  on 
the  old  home  roof  and  the  thick  tree-tops  !  What 
music  to  go  to  sleep  by,  to  the  tired  boy,  as  he  lies 
under  the  naked  roof  !  And  the  great,  low  bass 
thunder,  as  it  rolls  off  over  the  hills,  and  settles  down 
behind  them  to  the  very  center,  and  you  can  feel 
the  old  earth  jar  under  your  feet !  " 

"  There  was  no  oratory  in  the  speech  of  the 
Learned  Blacksmith,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  that 
word  ;  no  grace  of  elocution  ;  but  mighty  thoughts 
radiating  off  from  his  heated  mind,  like  sparks  from 
the  glowing  steel  of  his  own  anvil." 

"  The  hard  hands  of  Irish  labor,  with  nothing  in 
them — they  ring  like  slabs  of  marble  together,  in 
response  to  the  wild  appeals  of  O'Connell,  and  the 
British  stand  conquered  before  them,  with  shoul 
dered  arms.  Ireland  is  on  her  feet,  with  nothing  in 
her  hands,  impregnable,  unassailable,  in  utter  de- 
fenselessness — the  first  time  that  ever  a  nation 
sprung  to  its  feet  unarmed.  The  veterans  of  Eng 
land  behold  them  and  forbear  to  fire.  They  see  no 
mark.  It  will  not  do  to  fire  upon  men  ;  it  will  do 
only  to  fire  upon  soldiers.  They  are  the  proper 
mark  of  the  murderous  gun,  but  men  cannot  be  shot." 


PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

"  It  is  coming  to  that  (abolition  of  war)  the  world 
over!  and  when  it  does  come  to  it,  oh !  what  a  long 
breath  of  relief  the  tired  world  will  draw,  as  it 
stretches  itself  for  the  first  time  out  upon  earth's 
greensward,  and  learns  the  meaning  of  repose  and 
peaceful  sleep  ! " 

"  He  who  vests  his  labor  in  the  faithful  ground  is 
dealing  directly  with  God  ;  human  fraud  or  weak 
ness  does  not  intervene  between  him  and  his  requital. 
No  mechanic  has  a  set  of  customers  so  trustworthy 
as  God  and  the  elements.  No  savings  bank  is  so 
sure  as  the  old  earth." 

"Literature  is  the  luxury  of  words.  It  originates 
nothing,  it  does  nothing.  It  talks  hard  words  about 
the  labor  of  others,  and  is  reckoned  more  merito 
rious  for  it  than  genius  and  labor  for  doing  what 
learning  can  only  descant  upon.  It  trades  on  the 
capital  of  unlettered  minds.  It  struts  in  stolen 
plumage,  and  it  is  mere  plumage.  A  learned  man 
resembles  an  owl  in  more  respects  than  the  matter 
of  wisdom.  Like  that  solemn  bird,  he  is  about  all 
feathers." 

"  Our  Second  Advent  friends  contemplate  a  grand 
conflagration  about  the  first  of  April  next.  I  should 
be  willing  there  should  be  one,  if  it  could  be  con 
fined  to  the  productions  of  the  press  with  which  the 
earth  is  absolutely  smothered.  Humanity  wants 
precious  few  books  to  read,  but  the  great  living, 
breathing,  immortal  volume  of  Providence.  Life — 
real  life — how  to  live,  how  to  treat  one  another,  and 
how  to  trust  God  in  matters  beyond  our  ken  and  oc- 


NATHANIEL   PEABODY  ROGERS.  247 

casion — these  are  the  lessons  to  learn,  and  you  find 
little  of  them  in  libraries." 

"  That  accursed  drum  and  fife  !  How  they  have 
maddened  mankind  !  And  the  deep  bass  boom  of 
the  cannon,  chiming  in  in  the  chorus  of  battle- 
that  trumpet  and  wild  charging  bugle,  how  they  set 
the  military  devil  in  a  man,  and  make  him  into  a 
soldier !  Think  of  the  human  family  falling  upon 
one  another  at  the  inspiration  of  music  !  How  must 
God  feel  at  it  !  to  see  those  harp-strings  He  meant 
should  be  waked  to  a  love  bordering  on  divine, 
strung  and  swept  to  mortal  hate  and  butchery  !  " 

"  Leave  off  being  Jews  [he  is  addressing  Major 
Noah  with  regard  to  his  appeal  to  his  brethren  to 
return  to  Judea],  and  turn  mankind.  The  rocks 
and  sands  of  Palestine  have  been  worshiped  long 
enough.  Connecticut  Riverand  the  Merrimac  are  as 
good  rivers  as  any  Jordan  that  ever  run  into  a  dead 
or  live  sea,  and  as  holy,  for  that  matter.  In  Human 
ity,  as  in  Christ  Jesus,  as  Paul  says,  'there  is  neither 
Jew  nor  Greek/  And  there  ought  to  be  none.  Let 
Humanity  be  reverenced  with  the  tenderest  devo 
tion  ;  suffering,  discouraged,  down-trodden,  hard- 
handed,  haggard-eyed,  care-worn  mankind  !  Let 
these  be  regarded  a  little.  Would  to  God  I  could 
alleviate  all  their  sorrows,  and  leave  them  a  chance 
to  laugh !  They  are  miserable  now.  They  might 
be  as  happy  as  the  blackbird  on  the  spray,  and  as  full 
of  melody." 

"  I  am  sick  as  death  at  this  miserable  struggle 
among  mankind  for  a  living.  Poor  devils !  were 


248  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

they  b'orn  to  run  such  a  gauntlet  after  the  means 
of  life  ?  Look  about  you,  and  see  your  squirm 
ing  neighbors,  writhing  and  twisting  like  so  many 
angle-worms  in  a  fisher's  bait-box,  or  the  wriggling 
animalculae  seen  in  the  vinegar-drop  held  to  the  sun. 
How  they  look,  how  they  feel,  how  base  it  makes 
them  all !  " 

"  Every  human  being  is  entitled  to  the  means  of 
life,  as  the  trout  is  to  his  brook,  or  the  lark  to  the 
blue  sky.  Is  it  well  to  put  a  human  'young  one' 
here  to  die  of  hunger,  thirst  and  nakedness,  or  else 
be  preserved  as  a  pauper  ?  Is  this  fair  earth  but  a 
poor-house  by  creation  and  intent  ?  Was  it  made 
for  that  ? — and  these  other  round  things  we  see 
dancing  in  the  firmament  to  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
are  they  all  great  shining  poor-houses?" 

"  The  divines  always  admit  things  after  the  age 
has  adopted  them.  They  are  as  careful  of  the  age 
as  the  weathercock  is  of  the  wind.  You  might  as 
well  catch  an  old  experienced  weathercock,  on  some 
ancient  orthodox  steeple,  standing  all  day  with  its 
tail  east  in  a  strong  out  wind,  as  the  divines  at  odds 
with  the  age." 

But  we  must  cease  quoting.  The  admirers  of 
Jean  Paul  Richter  might  find  much  of  the  charm 
and  variety  of  the  "  Flower,  Fruit,  and  Thorn 
Pieces,"  in  this  newspaper  collection.  They  may 
see,  perhaps,  as  we  do,  some  things  which  they  can 
not  approve  of,  the  tendency  of  which,  however 
intended,  is  very  questionable.  But,  with  us,  they 
will  pardon  something  to  the  spirit  of  Liberty — • 


NATHANIEL   PEABODY  ROGERS.  249 

much  to  that  of  Love  and  Humanity  which  breathes 
through  all. 

Disgusted  and  heartsick  at  the  general  indiffer 
ence  of  church  and  clergy  to  the  temporal  condition 
of  the  people,  at  their  apologies  for  and  defenses 
of  slavery,  war,  and  capital  punishment,  Rogers 
turned  Protestant,  in  the  full  sense  of  the  term.  He 
spoke  of  priests  and  "  pulpit  wizards  "  as  freely  as 
John  Milton  did  two  centuries  ago,  although  with 
far  less  bitterness  and  rasping  satire.  He  could  not 
endure  to  see  Christianity  and  Humanity  divorced. 
He  longed  to  see  the  beautiful  life  of  Jesus — his 
sweet  humanities,  his  brotherly  love,  his  abounding 
sympathies— made  the  example  of  all  men.  Thor 
oughly  democratic,  in  his  view  all  men  were  equal. 
Priests,  stripped  of  their  sacerdotal  tailoring,  were 
in  his  view  but  men,  after  all.  He  pitied  them,  he 
said,  for  they  were  in  a  wrong  position,  above  life's 
comforts  and  sympathies,  "  up  in  the  unnatural 
cold,  they  had  better  come  down  among  men,  and 
endure  and  enjoy  with  them."  "  Mankind,"  said 
he,  "  want  the  healing  influences  of  Humanity. 
They  must  love  one  another  more.  Disinterested 
good  will  make  the  world  as  it  should  be." 

His  last  visit  to  his  native  valley  was  in  the  autumn 
of  1845.  In  a  familiar  letter  to  a  friend,  he  thus 
describes  his  farewell  view  of  the  mountain  glories 
of  his  childhood's  home: 

"  I  went  a  jaunt,  Thursday  last,  about  twenty  miles 
north  of  this  valley,  into  the  mountain  region,  where, 
what  I  beheld,  if  I  could  tell  it  as  I  saw  it,  would 


2 SO  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

make  your  outlawed  sheet  sought  after  wherever 
our  Anglo-Saxon  tongue  is  spoken  in  the  wide  world. 
I  have  been  many  a  time  among  those  Alps,  and 
never  without  a  kindling  of  wildest  enthusiasm  in 
my  woodland  blood.  But  I  never  saw  them  till  last 
Thursday.  They  never  loomed  distinctly  to  my  eye 
before,  and  the  sun  never  shone  on  them  from  heaven 
till  then.  They  were  so  near  me  I  could  seem  to 
hear  the  voice  of  their  cataracts,  as  I  could  count 
their  great  slides,  streaming  adown  their  lone  and 
desolate  sides.  Old  slides  some  of  them,  overgrown 
with  young  woods,  like  half-healed  scars  on  the 
breast  of  a  giant.  The  great  rains  had  clothed  the 
valleys  of  the  upper  Pemigewasset  in  the  darkest  and 
deepest  green.  The  meadows  were  richer  and  more 
glorious,  in  their  thick  '  fall  feed,'  than  '  Queen 
Anne's  Garden,'  as  I  saw  it  from  the  windows  of 
Windsor  Castle.  And  the  dark  hemlock  and  hack 
matack  woods  were  yet  darker  after  the  wet  season, 
as  they  lay,  in  a  hundred  wildernesses,  in  the  mighty 
recesses  of  the  mountains.  But  the  Peaks — the 
eternal,  the  solitary,  the  beautiful,  the  glorious  and 
dear  mountain  peaks,  my  own  Moose  Hillock  and 
my  native  '  Haystacks  ' — these  were  the  things  on 
which  eye  and  heart  gazed  and  lingered,  and  I 
seemed  to  see  them  for  the  last  time.  It  was  on 
my  way  back  that  I  halted  and  turned  to  look  at 
them,  from  a  high  point  on  the  Thornton  road.  It  was 
about  four  in  the  afternoon.  It  had  rained  among 
the  hills  about  the  '  Notch,'  and  cleared  off.  The 
sun,  there  sombered,  at  that  early  hour,  as  toward 


NATHANIEL   PEABODY  ROGERS.  251 

his  setting,  was  pouring  his  most  glorious  light  upon 
the  naked  Peaks,  and  they  casting  their  mighty 
shadows  far  down  among  the  inaccessible  woods 
that  darken  the  hollows  that  stretch  between  their 
bases.  A  cloud  was  creeping  up  to  perch  and  rest  a 
while  on  the  highest  top  of  *  Great  Haystack.'  Vulgar 
folks  have  called  it  Mount  Lafayette,  since  the  visit 
of  that  brave  old  Frenchman,  in  '25  or  '26.  If  they 
had  asked  his  opinion,  he  would  have  told  them  the 
names  of  mountains  couldn't  be  altered,  and  espe 
cially  names  like  that,  so  appropriate,  so  descriptive, 
and  so  picturesque.  A  little,  hard,  white  cloud,  that 
looked  like  a  hundred  fleeces  of  wool  rolled  into 
one,  was  climbing  rapidly  along  up  the  northwest 
ern  ridge,  that  ascended  to  the  lonely  top  of  'Great 
Haystack.'  All  the  others  were  bare.  Four  or 
five  of  them,  as  distinct  and  shapely  as  so  many 
pyramids,  some  topped  out  with  naked  cliff,  on 
which  the  sun  lay  in  melancholy  glory;  others 
clothed  thick  all  the  way  up  with  the  old  New 
Hampshire  hemlock,  or  the  daring  hackmatack,  Pier- 
pont's  hackmatack.  You  could  see  their  shadows 
stretching  many  arid  many  a  mile,  over  '  Grant '  and 
1  Location,'  away  beyond  the  invading  foot  of  Incor 
poration  ;  where  the  timber-hunter  has  scarcely  ex 
plored,  and  where  the  moose  browses  now,  I  sup 
pose,  as  undisturbed  as  he  did  before  the  settle 
ment  of  the  State.  I  wish  our  young  friend  and 
genius,  Harrison  Eastman,  had  been  with  me,  to  see 
the  sunlight,  as  it  glared  on  the  tops  of  those 
woods,  and  to  see  the  purple  of  the  mountains.  I 


252  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

looked  at  it,  myself,  almost  with  the  eye  of  a  painter. 
If  a  painter  looked  with  mine,  though,  he  never 
could  look  off,  upon  his  canvas,  long  enough  to 
make  a  picture ;  he  would  gaze  forever  at  the 
original. 

"  But  I  had  to  leave  it,  and  to  say  in  my  heart, 
farewell  !  And  as  I  ^traveled  on  down,  and  the  sun 
sunk  lower  and  lower  toward  the  summit  of  the 
western  ridge,  the  clouds  came  up  and  formed  an 
Alpine  range  in  the  evening  heavens,  above  it,  like 
other  Haystacks  and  Moose  Hillocks,  so  dark  and 
dense,  that  fancy  could  easily  mistake  them  for  a 
higher  Alps.  There  were  the  peaks,  and  the  great 
passes;  the  Franconia  '  Notches'  among  the  cloudy 
cliffs,  and  the  great  White  Mountain  '  Gap.'  " 

His  health,  never  robust,  had  been  gradually  fail 
ing  for  some  time  previous  to  his  death.  He  needed 
more  repose  and  quiet  than  his  duties  as  an  editor 
left  him  ;  and  to  this  end  he  purchased  a  small  and 
pleasant  farm  in  his  loved  Pemigewasset  valley,  in 
the  hope  that  he  might  there  recruit  his  wasted 
energies.  In  the  6th  month  of  the  year  of  his  death, 
in  a  letter  to  us,  he  spoke  of  his  prospects  in  lan 
guage  which  even  then  brought  moisture  to  our  eyes: 

"  I  am  striving  to  get  me  an  asylum  of  a  farm.     I 

have  a  wife  and  seven  children,  every  one  of  them 
with  a  whole  spirit.  I  don't  want  to  be  separated 
from  any  of  them,  only  with  a  view  to  come  together 
again.  I  have  a  beautiful  little  retreat  in  prospect, 
forty  odd  miles  north,  where  I  imagine  I  can  get  pota- 


NATHANIEL   PEA  BODY  ROGEK3.  253 

toes  and  repose — a  sort  of  haven  or  port.  I  am 
among  the  breakers,  and  '  mad  for  land.'  If  I  get  this 
home — it  is  a  mile  or  two  in  among  the  hills  from  the 
pretty  domicile  once  visited  by  yourself  and  glorious 
Thompson — I  am  this  moment  indulging  the  fancy 
that  I  may  see  you  at  it  before  we  die.  Why  can't 
I  have  you  come  and  see  me  ?  You  see,  dear  W., 
I  don't  want  to  send  you  anything  short  of  a  full 
epistle.  Let  me  end  as  I  begun,  with  the  proffer  of 
my  hand  in  grasp  of  yours  extended.  My  heart  I 
do  not  proffer — it  was  yours  before — it  shall  be 
yours  while  I  am  "  N.  P.  ROGERS." 

Alas !  the  haven  of  a  deeper  repose  than  he  had 
dreamed  of  was  close  at  hand.  He  lingered  until 
the  middle  of  the  loth  month,  suffering  much,  yet 
calm  and  sensible  to  the  last.  Just  before  his  death, 
he  desired  his  children  to  sing  at  his  bed-side  that 
touching  song  of  Lover's  "  The  Angel's  Whisper." 
Turning  his  eyes  toward  the  open  window,  through 
which  the  leafy  glory  of  the  season  he  most  loved 
was  visible,  he  listened  to  the  sweet  melody.  In 
the  words  of  his  friend  Pierpont  : 

The  Angel's  whisper  stole  in  song  upon  his  closing  ear; 
From  his  own  daughter's  lips  it  came,  so  musical  and  clear, 
That  scarcely  knew  the  dying  man  what  melody  was  there — 
The  last  of  earth's  or  first  of  heaven's  pervading  all  the  air. 

He  sleeps  in  the  Concord  burial-ground,  under  the 
shadow  of  oaks  ;  the  very  spot  he  would  have  chosen, 
for  he  looked  upon  trees  with  something  akin  to 


254  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

human  affection.  "  They  are,"  he  said, "  the  beauti 
ful  handiwork  and  architecture  of  God,  on  which 
the  eye  never  tires.  Every  one  is  'a  feather  in  the 
earth's  cap,'  a  plume  in  her  bonnet,  a  tress  on  her 
forehead — a  comfort,  a  refreshing,  and  an  ornament 
to  her."  Spring  has  hung  over  him  her  buds,  and 
opened  beside  him  her  violets.  Summer  has  laid 
her  green  oaken  garland  on  his  grave,  and  now  the 
frost-blooms  of  autumn  drop  upon  it.  Shall  man 
cast  a  nettle  on  that  mound?  He  loved  Humanity 
— shall  it  be  less  kind  to  him  than  Nature?  Shall 
the  bigotry  of  sect,  and  creed,  and  profession,  drive 
its  condemnatory  stake  into  his  grave?  God  forbid. 
The  doubts  which  he  sometimes  unguardedly  ex 
pressed  had  relation,  we  are  constrained  to  believe, 
to  the  glosses  of  commentators  and  creed-makers, 
and  the  inconsistency  of  professors,  rather  than  to 
those  facts  and  precepts  of  Christianity,  to  which  he 
gave  the  constant  assent  of  his  practice.  He  sought 
not  his  own.  His  heart  yearned  with  pity  and 
brotherly  affection  for  all  the  poor  and  suffering  in 
the  universe.  Of  him,  the  angel  of  Leigh  Hunt's 
beautiful  allegory  might  have  written,  in  the  golden 
book  of  remembrance,  as  he  did  of  the  good  Abou 
ben  Adhem,  "  He  loved  his  fellow-men? 


ROBERT   DINSMORE. 


THE  great  charm  of  Scottish  poetry  consists  in 
its  simplicity  and  genuine,  unaffected  sympathy 
with  the  common  joys  and  sorrows  of  daily  life.  It 
is  a  hometaught,  household  melody.  It  calls  to 
mind  the  pastoral  bleat  on  the  hill-sides,  the  kirk- 
bells  of  a  summer  Sabbath,  the  song  of  the  lark  in 
the  sunrise,  the  cry  of  the  quail  in  the  corn-land,  the 
low  of  cattle,  and  the  blithe  carol  of  milkmaids 
"  when  the  kye  come  hame  "  at  gloaming.  Meet- 
ingsat  fair  and  market,  blushing  betrothments,  merry 
weddings,  the  joy  of  young  maternity,  the  lights 
and  shades  of  domestic  life,  its  bereavements  and 
partings,  its  chances  and  changes,  its  holy  death 
beds,  and  funerals  solemnly  beautiful  in  quiet  kirk- 
yards — these  furnish  the  hints  of  the  immortal 
melodies  of  Burns,  the  sweet  ballads  of  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd  and  Allan  Cunningham,  and  the  rustic 
drama  of  Ramsay.  It  is  the  poetry  of  home,  of 
nature,  and  the  affections.  All  this  is  sadly  want 
ing  in  our  young  literature.  We  have  no  songs; 
American  domestic  life  has  never  been  hallowed 
and  beautified  by  the  sweet  and  graceful  and  tender 
associations  of  poetry.  We  have  no  Yankee  pas 
torals.  Our  rivers  and  streams  turn  mills  and  float 
rafts,  and  are  otherwise  as  commendably  useful  at 


256  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

those  of  Scotland ;  but  no  quaint  ballad,  or  simple 
song,  reminds  us  that  men  and  women  have  loved, 
met,  and  parted  on  their  banks,  or  that  beneath 
each  roof  within  their  valleys  the  tragedy  and 
comedy  of  life  has  been  enacted.  Our  poetry  is 
cold  and  imitative;  it  seems  more  the  product  of 
overstrained  intellects  than  the  spontaneous  out- 
gushing  of  hearts  warm  with  love,  and  strongly 
sympathizing  with  human  nature  as  it  actually  exists 
about  us,  with  the  joys  and  griefs  of  the  men 
and  women  whom  we  meet  daily.  Unhappily  the 
opinion  prevails  that  a  poet  must  be  also  a  philos 
opher,  and  hence  it  is,  that  much  of  our  poetry  is 
as  indefinable  in  its  mysticism  as  an  Indian  Brahman's 
commentary  on  his  sacred  books,  or  German  meta 
physics  subjected  to  homoeopathic  dilution.  It 
assumes  to  be  prophetical,  and  its  utterances  are 
oracular.  It  tells  of  strange,  vague  emotions  and 
yearnings,  painfully  suggestive  of  spiritual  "groan- 
ings  which  cannot  be  uttered."  If  it  "babbles  o' 
green  fields,"  and  the  common  sights  and  sounds  of 
nature,  it  is  only  for  the  purpose  of  finding  some 
vague  analogy  between  them  and  its  internal  experi 
ences  and  longings.  It  leaves  the  warm  and  com 
fortable  fireside  of  actual  knowledge  and  human 
comprehension,  and  goes  wailing  and  gibbering  like 
a  ghost  about  the  impassable  doors  of  mystery ; 

It  fain  would  be  resolved 

How  things  are  done, 
And  who  the  tailor  is 

That  works  for  the  man  i'  the  sun. 


ROBERT  DIN  SHORE.  257 

How  shall  we  account  for  this  marked  tendency  in 
the  literature  of  a  shrewd,  practical  people?  Is  it 
that  real  life  in  New  England  lacks  those  conditions 
of  poetry  and  romance  which  age,  reverence,  and  su 
perstition  have  gathered  about  it  in  the  Old  World? 
Is  it  that 

Ours  are  not  Tempe's  nor  Arcadia's  vales, 

but  are  more  famous  for  growing  Indian  corn  and 
potatoes,  and  the  manufacture  of  wooden  ware  and 
peddler  notions,  than  for  romantic  associations  and 
legendary  interest  ?  That  our  huge,  unshapely 
shingle  structures,  blistering  in  the  sun  and  glaring 
with  windows,  were  evidently  never  reared  by  the 
spell  of  pastoral  harmonies,  as  the  walls  of  Thebes 
rose  at  the  sound  of  the  lyre  of  Amphion?  That 
the  habits  of  our  people  are  too  cool,  cautious,  un 
demonstrative  to  furnish  the  warp  and  woof  of  song 
and  pastoral,  and  that  their  dialect  and  figures  of 
speech,  however  richly  significant  and  expressive  in 
the  autobiography  of  Sam  Slick,  or  the  satire  of 
Hosea  Bigelow  and  Ethan  Spike,  form  a  very  awk 
ward  medium  of  sentiment  and  pathos?  All  this 
may  be  true.  But  the  Yankee,  after  all,  is  a  man, 
and  as  such,  his  history,  could  it  be  got  at,  must 
have  more  or  less  of  poetic  material  in  it;  more 
over,  whether  conscious  of  it  or  not,  he  also  stands 
relieved  against  the  background  of  Nature's  beauty 
or  sublimity.  There  is  a  poetical  side  to  the  com 
monplace  of  his  incomings  and  outgoings ;  study 
him  well,  and  you  may  frame  an  idyl  of  some  sort 


258  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

from  his  apparently  prosaic  existence.  Our  poets, 
we  must  needs  think,  are  deficient  in  that  shiftiness, 
ready  adaptation  to  circumstances,  and  ability  of 
making  the  most  of  things,  for  which,  as  a  people, 
we  are  proverbial.  Can  they  make  nothing  of  our 
Thanksgiving,  that  annual  gathering  of  long-severed 
friends?  Do  they  find  nothing  to  their  purpose  in 
our  apple-bees,  huskings,  berry-pickings,  summer 
picnics,  and  winter  sleigh-rides?  Is  there  nothing 
available  in  our  peculiarities  of  climate,  scenery, 
customs,  and  political  institutions?  Does  the  Yan 
kee  leap  into  life,  shrewd,  hard,  and  speculating, 
armed,  like  Pallas,  for  a  struggle  with  fortune?  Are 
there  not  boys  and  girls,  school  loves  and  friend 
ships,  courtings  and  match-makings,  hope  and  fear, 
and  all  the  varied  play  of  human  passions — the  keen 
struggles  of  gain,  the  mad  grasping  of  ambition- 
sin  and  remorse,  tearful  repentance  and  holy  aspira 
tions?  Who  shall  say  that  we  have  not  all  the 
essentials  of  the  poetry  of  human  life  and  simple 
nature,  of  the  hearth  and  the  farm-field  ?  Here,  then, 
is  a  mine  umvorked,  a  harvest  ungathered.  Who 
shall  sink  the  shaft  and  thrust  in  the  sickle? 

And  here  let  us  say  that  the  mere  dilettante  and 
the  amateur  ruralist  may  as  well  keep  their  hands 
off.  The  prize  is  not  for  them.  He  who  would  suc 
cessfully  strive  for  it,  must  be  himself  what  he  sings 
— part  and  parcel  of  the  rural  life  of  New  England; 
one  who  has  grown  strong  amid  its  healthful  in 
fluences,  familiar  with  all  its  details,  and  capable  of 
detecting  whatever  of  beauty,  humor,  or  pathos,  per- 


ROBERT  DINSMORE.  259 

tain  to  it;  one  who  has  added  to  his  book-lore  the 
large  experience  of  an  active  participation  in  the 
rugged  toil,  the  hearty  amusements,  the  trials,  and 
the  pleasures  he  describes. 

We  have  been  led  to  these  reflections  by  an  inci 
dent  which  has  called  up  before  us  the  homespun 
figure  of  an  old  friend  of  our  boyhood,  who  had  the 
good  sense  to  discover  that  the  poetic  element  ex 
isted  in  the  simple  home  life  of  a  country  farmer, 
although  himself  unable  to  give  a  very  creditable 
expression  of  it.  He  had  the  "vision"  indeed,  but 
the  "  faculty  divine  "  was  wanting,  or,  if  he  possessed 
it  in  any  degree,  as  Thersites  says  of  the  wit  of  Ajax, 
"  It  would  not  out,  but  lay  coldly  in  him  like  fire  in 
the  flint." 

While  engaged  this  morning  in  looking  over  a 
large  exchange  list  of  newspapers,  a  few  stanzas  of 
poetry  in  the  Scottish  dialect  attracted  our  attention. 
As  we  read  them,  like  a  wizard's  rhyme  they  seemed 
to  have  the  power  of  bearing  us  back  to  the  past. 
They  had  long  ago  graced  the  columns  of  that  soli 
tary  sheet  which  once  a  week  diffused  happiness 
over  our  fireside  circle,  making  us  acquainted,  in  our 
lonely  nook,  with  the  goings-on  of  the  great  world. 
The  verses,  we  are  now  constrained  to  admit,  are 
not  remarkable  in  themselves — truth,  and  simple 
nature  only  ;  yet  how  our  young  hearts  responded 
to  them !  Twenty  years  ago  there  were  fewer 
verse-makers  than  at  present ;  and  as  our  whole 
stock  of  light  literature  consisted  of  Ellwood's 
Davideis,  and  the  selections  of  Lindley  Murray's 


260  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

English  Reader,  it  is  not  improbable  that  we  were 
in  a  condition  to  overestimate  the  contributions  to 
the  poet's  corner  of  our  village  newspaper.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  we  welcome  them  as  we  would  the  face 
of  an  old  friend,  for  they  somehow  remind  us  of  the 
scent  of  hay-mows,  the  breath  of  cattle,  the  fresh 
greenery  by  the  brook-side,  the  moist  earth  broken 
by  the  coulter  and  turned  up  to  the  sun  and  winds 
of  May.  This  particular  piece,  which  follows,  is  en 
titled  "  The  Sparrow,"  and  was  occasioned  by  the 
crushing  of  a  bird's  nest  by  the  author,  while  plow 
ing  among  his  corn.  It  has  something  of  the  simple 
tenderness  of  Burns. 

Poor  innocent  and  hapless  sparrow ! 

Why  should  my  mold-board  gie  thee  sorrow  ! 

This  day  thou'lt  chirp  and  mourn  the  morrow 

Wi'  anxious  breast ; 
The  plow  has  turned  the  mold'ring  furrow 

Deep  o'er  thy  nest ! 

Just  i'  the  middle  o'  the  hill 

Thy  nest  was  placed  wi'  curious  skill ; 

There  I  espied  thy  little  bill 

Beneath  the  shape. 
In  that  sweet  bower,  secure  frae  ill, 

Thine  eggs  were  laid. 

Five  corns  o'  maize  had  there  been  drappit, 
An'  through  the  stalks  thy  head  was  pappit, 
The  drawing  nowt  couldna  be  stappit 

I  quickly  foun'; 
Syne  frae  thy  cozie  nest  thou  happit, 

Wild  fluttering  roun'. 


ROBERT  DIN  SHORE.  261 

The  sklentin  stane  beguiled  the  sheer, 
In  vain  I  tried  the  plow  to  steer, 
A  wee  bit  stumpie  i'  the  rear 

Cam'  'tween  my  legs, 
An'  to  the  jee-side  gart  me  veer 

An'  crush  thine  eggs. 

Alas !  alas  !  my  bonnie  birdie  ! 

Thy  faithful  mate  flits  round  to  guard  thee. 

Connubial  love  ! — -a  pattern  worthy 

The  pious  priest ! 
What  savage  heart  could  be  sae  hardy 

As  wound  thy  breast  ? 

Ah  me  !  it  was  nae  fau't  o'  mine  ; 
It  gars  me  greet  to  see  thee  pine. 
It  may  be  serves  His  great  design 

Who  governs  all ; 
Omniscience  tents  wi'  eyes  divine 

The  sparrow's  fall  ! 

How  much  like  thine  are  human  dools, 
Their  sweet  wee  bairns  laid  i'  the  mools  ? 
The  Sovereign  Power  who  nature  rules, 

Hath  said  so  be  it ; 
But  poor  blin'  mortals  are  sic  fools 

They  canna  see  it. 

Nae  doubt  that  He  who  first  did  mate  us, 
Has  fixed  our  lot  as  sure  as  fate  is, 
An'  when  he  wounds  He  disna  hate  us, 

But  anely  this, 
He'll  gar  the  ills  which  here  await  us 

Yield  lastin'  bliss. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  a  con 
siderable  number  of   Presbyterians  of   Scotch   de- 


262  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

scent,  from  the  north  of  Ireland,  emigrated  to  the 
New  World.  In  the  spring  of  1719  the  inhabitants 
of  Haverhill,  on  the  Merrimac,  saw  them  passing  up 
the  river  in  several  canoes,  one  of  which  unfortu 
nately  upset  in  the  rapids  above  the  village.  The 
following  fragment  of  a  ballad  celebrating  this 
event,  has  been  handed  down  to  the  present  time, 
and  may  serve  to  show  the  feelings,  even  then,  of 
the  old  English  settlers  toward  the  Irish  emigrants: 

They  began  to  scream  and  bawl, 

As  out  they  tumbled  one  and  all, 
And,  if  the  Devil  had  spread  his  net, 

He  could  have  made  a  glorious  haul ! 

The  new-comers  proceeded  up  the  river,  and,  land 
ing  opposite  to  the  Uncanoonuc  Hills,  on  the  present 
site  of  Manchester,  proceeded  inland  to  Beaver  Pond. 
Charmed  with  the  appearance  of  the  country,  they 
resolved  here  to  terminate  their  wanderings.  Under 
a  venerable  oak  on  the  margin  of  the  little  lake,  they 
knelt  down  with  their  minister,  Jamie  McGregore, 
and  laid,  in  prayer  and  thanksgiving,  the  foundation 
of  their  settlement.  In  a  few  years  they  had  cleared 
large  fields,  built  substantial  stone  and  frame  dwel 
lings,  and  a  large  and  commodious  meeting-house  ; 
wealth  had  accumulated  around  them,  and  they  had 
everywhere  the  reputation  of  a  shrewd  and  thriving 
community.  They  were  the  first  in  New  England 
to  cultivate  the  potato,  which  their  neighbors  for  a 
long  time  regarded  as  a  pernicious  root,  altogether 
unfit  for  a  Christian  stomach.  Every  lover  of  that 


ROBERT  DINSMORE.  263 

invaluable  esculent  has  reason  to  remember  with 
gratitude  the  settlers  of  Londonderry. 

Their  moral  acclimation  in  Ireland  had  not  been 
without  its  effect  upon  their  character.  Side  by  side 
with  a  Presbyterianism  as  austere  as  that  of  John 
Knox,  had  grown  up  something  of  the  wild  Milesian 
humor,  love  of  convivial  excitement  and  merry-mak 
ing.  Their  long  prayers  and  fierce  zeal  in  behalf  of 
orthodox  tenets,  only  served,  in  the  eyes  of  their 
Puritan  neighbors,  to  make  more  glaring  still  the 
scandal  of  their  marked  social  irregularities.  It  be 
came  a  common  saying  in  the  region  roundabout, 
that,  "  the  Derry  Presbyterians  would  never  give  up 
a  pint  of  doctrine,  or  a  pint  of  rum."  Their  second 
minister  was  an  old  scarred  fighter,  who  had  signal 
ized  himself  in  the  stout  defense  of  Londonderry, 
when  James  II  and  his  Papists  were  thundering  at 
its  gates.  Agreeably  to  his  death-bed  directions,  his 
old  fellow-soldiers,  in  their  leathern  doublets  and 
battered  steel  caps,  bore  him  to  his  grave,  firing  over 
him  the  same  rusty  muskets  which  had  swept  down 
rank  after  rank  of  the  men  of  Amalek  at  the  Derry 
siege. 

Ere  long  the  celebrated  Derry  Fair  was  established 
in  imitation  of  those  with  which  they  had  been 
familiar  in  Ireland.  Thither  annually  came  all  man 
ner  of  horse-jockeys  and  peddlers,  gentlemen  and  beg 
gars,  fortune-tellers,  wrestlers,  dancers  and  fiddlers, 
gay  young  farmers  and  buxom  maidens.  Strong 
drink  abounded.  They  who  had  good-naturedly 
wrestled  and  joked  together  in  the  morning  not  un- 


264  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

frequently  closed  the  day  with  a  fight,  until,  like  the 
revelers  of  Donnybrook, 

Their  hearts  were  soft  with  whisky, 
And  their  heads  were  soft  with  blows. 

A  wild,  frolicking,  drinking,  fiddling,  courting,  horse- 
racing,  riotous  merry-making — a  sort  of  Protestant 
carnival — relaxing  the  grimness  of  Puritanism  for 
leagues  around  it. 

In  the  midst  of  such  a  community,  and  partaking 
of  all  its  influences,  Robert  Dinsmore,  the  author  of 
the  poem  I  have  quoted,  was  born  about  the  middle 
of  the  last  century.  His  paternal  ancestor,  John, 
younger  son  of  a  Laird  of  Achenmead,  who  left  the 
banks  of  the  Tweed  for  the  green  fertility  of  North 
ern  Ireland,  had  emigrated  to  New  England  some 
forty  years  before,  and,  after  a  rough  experience  of 
Indian  captivity  in  the  wild  woods  of  Maine,  had 
settled  down  among  his  old  neighbors  in  London 
derry.  Until  nine  years  of  age,  Robert  never  saw  a 
school.  He  was  a  short  time  under  the  tuition  of  an 
old  British  soldier,  who  had  strayed  into  the  settle 
ment  after  the  French  war,  "  at  which  time,"  he  says  in 
a  letter  to  a  friend,  "  I  learned  to  repeat  the  shorter 
and  larger  catechisms.  These,  with  the  Scripture 
proofs  annexed  to  them,  confirmed  me  in  the  ortho 
doxy  of  my  forefathers,  and  I  hope  I  shall  ever  re 
main  an  evidence  of  the  truth  of  what  the  wise  man 
said,  '  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go,  and 
when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it.' '  He 
afterward  took  lessons  with  one  Master  McKeen, 


ROBERT  DINSMORE.  265 

who  used  to  spend  much  of  his  time  in  hunting 
squirrels  with  his  pupils.  He  learned  to  read  and 
write;  and  the  old  man  always  insisted  that  he 
should  have  done  well  at  ciphering  also,  had  he  not 
fallen  in  love  with  Molly  Park.  At  the  age  of  eight 
een  he  enlisted  in  the  revolutionary  army,  and  was 
at  the  battle  of  Saratoga.  On  his  return  he  married 
his  fair  Molly,  settled  down  as  a  farmer  in  Windham, 
formerly  a  part  of  Londonderry,  and  before  he  was 
thirty  years  of  age  became  an  elder  in  the  church,  of 
the  creed  and  observances  of  which  he  was  always  a 
zealous  and  resolute  defender.  From  occasional  pas 
sages  in  his  poems,  it  is  evident  that  the  instructions 
which  he  derived  from  the  pulpit  were  not  unlike 
those  which  Burns  suggested  as  needful  for  the  un 
lucky  lad  whom  he  was  commending  to  his  friend 
Hamilton : 

Ye'll  catechise  him  ilka  quirk, 
An'  shore  him  weel  wi'  hell. 

In  a  humorous  poem,  entitled  "  Spring's  Lament," 
he  thus  describes  the  consternation  produced  in  the 
meeting-house  at  sermon  time  by  a  dog,  who,  in 
search  of  his  mistress,  rattled  and  scraped  at  the 
"west  porch  door  ": 

The  vera  priest  was  scared  himsel', 
His  sermon  he  could  hardly  spell, 
Auld  carlins  fancied  they  could  smell 

The  brimstone  matches ; 
They  thought  he  was  some  imp  o'  hell, 

In  quest  o'  wretches. 


266  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

Ke  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  a  home-loving,  un 
pretending  farmer,  cultivating  his  acres  with  his 
own  horny  hands,  and  cheering  the  long  rainy  days 
and  winter  evenings  with  homely  rhyme.  Most  of 
his  pieces  were  written  in  the  dialect  of  his  ances 
tors,  which  was  well  understood  by  his  neighbors 
and  friends,  the  only  audience  upon  which  he  could 
venture  to  calculate.  He  loved  all  old  things,  old 
language,  old  customs,  old  theology.  In  a  rhyming 
letter  to  his  cousin  Silas,  he  says : 

Though  Death  our  ancestors  has  cleekit, 
An'  under  clods  them  closely  steekit, 
We'll  mark  the  place  their  chimneys  reekit ; 
Their  native  tongue  we  yet  wad  speak  it, 
Wt  accent  glib. 

He  wrote  sometimes  to  amuse  his  neighbors,  often 
to  soothe  their  sorrow  under  domestic  calamity,  or 
to  give  expression  to  his  own.  With  little  of  that 
delicacy  of  taste  which  results  from  the  attrition  of 
fastidious  and  refined  society,  and  altogether  too 
truthful  and  matter-of-fact  to  call  in  the  aid  of  im 
agination,  he  describes  in  the  simplest  and  most 
direct  terms  the  circumstances  in  which  he 
found  himself,  and  the  impressions  which  these  cir 
cumstances  had  made  on  his  own  mind.  He  calls 
things  by  their  right  names ;  no  euphemism,  or 
transcendentalism — the  plainer  and  commoner  the 
better.  He  tells  us  of  his  farm  life,  its  joys  and 
sorrows,  its  mirth  and  care,  with  no  embellishment, 
with  no  concealment  of  repulsive  and  ungraceful 


ROBERT  DINSMORR.  267 

features.  Never  having  seen  a  nightingale,  he 
makes  no  attempt  to  describe  the  fowl ;  but  he  has 
seen  the  night-hawk,  at  sunset,  cutting  the  air  above 
him,  and  he  tells  of  it.  Side  by  side  with  his  wav 
ing  corn-fields  and  orchard-blooms,  we  have  the 
barn-yard  and  pig-sty.  Nothing  which  was  neces 
sary  to  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  his  home 
and  avocation  was  to  him  "  common  or  unclean." 
Take,  for  instance,  the  following,  from  a  poem  writ 
ten  at  the  close  of  autumn,  after  the  death  of  his 
wife: 

No  more  may  I  the  Spring  Brook  trace, 
No  more  with  sorrow  view  the  place 

Where  Mary's  wash-tub  stood ; 
No  more  may  wander  there  alone, 
.    And  lean  upon  the  mossy  stone, 
j        "[Vhere  once  she  piled  her  wood. 
'•    'Twas  there  she  bleached  her  linen  cloth, 

By  yonder  bass-wood  tree  ; 
From  that  sweet  stream  she  made  her  broth, 

Her  pudding  and  her  tea. 
That  stream,  whose  waters  running, 

O'er  mossy  root  and  stone, 
Made  ringing  and  singing 
Her  voice  could  match  alone. 

We  envy  not  the  man  who  can  sneer  at  this  sim 
ple  picture.  It  is  honest  as  nature  herself.  An  old 
and  lonely  man  looks  back  upon  the  young  years  of 
his  wedded  life.  Can  we  not  look  with  him?  The 
sunlight  of  a  summer  morning  is  weaving  itself  with 
the  leafy  shadows  of  the  bass-tree,  beneath  which  a 
fair  and  ruddy-cheeked  young  woman,  with  her  full, 


268  PORTRAITS  AND  SKETCHES. 

rounded  arms  bared  to  the  elbow,  bends  not  un 
gracefully  to  her  task,  pausing  ever  and  anon  to  play 
with  the  bright-eyed  child  beside  her,  and  mingling 
her  songs  with  the  pleasant  murmurings  of  gliding 
water  !  Alas  !  as  the  old  man  looks,  he  hears  that 
voice,  which  perpetually  sounds  to  us  all  from  the 
past — NO  MORE  ! 

Let  us  look  at  him  in  his  more  genial  mood.  Take 
the  opening  lines  of  his  "  Thanksgiving  Day." 
What  a  plain,  hearty  picture  of  substantial  com 
fort ! 

When  corn  is  in  the  garret  stored, 
And  sauce  in  cellar  well  secured, 
When  good  fat  beef  we  can  afford, 

And  things  that  're  dainty, 
With  good  sweet  cider  on  our  board, 

And  pudding  plenty ; 

When  stock,  well  housed,  may  chew  the  cud, 
And  at  my  door  a  pile  of  wood, 
A  rousing  fire  to  warm  my  blood, 

Blest  sight  to  see ! 
It  puts  my  rustic  muse  in  mood 

To  sing  for  thee. 

If  he  needs  a  simile,  he  takes  the  nearest  at  hand. 
In  a  letter  to  his  daughter  he  says  : 

That  mine  is  not  a  longer  letter, 
The  cause  is  not  the  want  of  matter — 
Of  that  there's  plenty,  worse  or  better; 

But  like  a  mill, 

Whose  stream  beats  back  with  surplus  water, 
The  wheel  stands  still. 


ROBERT  DINSMORE.  269 

Something  of  the  humor  of  Burns  gleams  out  oc 
casionally  from  the  sober  decorum  of  his  verses.  In 
an  epistle  to  his  friend  Betton,  high  sheriff  of  the 
county,  who  had  sent  to  him  for  a  peck  of  seed  corn, 
he  says  : 

Soon  plantin'  time  will  come  again ; 
Syne  may  the  heavens  gie  us  rain, 
An'  shining  heat  to  bless  ilk  plain 

An'  fertile  hill, 
An'  gar  the  loads  o'  yellow  grain, 

Our  garrets  fill. 

As  long  as  I  hae  food  and  clothing, 
An'  still  am  hale  and  fier  and  breathing, 
Ye's  get  the  corn and  may  be  ae  thing 

Ye'll  do  for  me 
(Though  God  forbid) — hang  me  for  naething 

An'  lose  your  fee. 

And  on  receiving  a  copy  of  some  verses  written 
by  a  lady,  he  talks  in  a  sad  way  for  a  Presbyterian 
deacon : 

Were  she  some  Aborigine  squaw, 
Wha  sings  so  sweet  by  nature's  law, 
I'd  meet  her  in  a  hazle  shaw, 

Or  some  green  loany, 
And  make  her,  tawny  phiz  and  'a, 

My  welcome  crony. 

The  practical  philosophy  of  the  stout,  jovial 
rhymer  was  but  little  affected  by  the  sour-featured 
asceticism  of  the  elder.  lie  says  : 


270  PORTRAITS  AND   SKETCHES. 

We'll  eat  and  drink,  and  cheerful  take 
Our  portions  for  the  Donor's  sake, 
For  thus  the  Word  of  Wisdom  spake — 

Man  can't  do  better  ; 
Nor  can  we  by  our  labors  make 

The  Lord  our  debtor. 

A  quaintly  characteristic  correspondence  in  rhyme 
between  the  Deacon  and  Parson  McGregore,  evi 
dently  "  birds  o'  ane  feather,"  is  still  in  existence. 
The  minister,  in  acknowledging  the  epistle  of  his 
old  friend,  commences  his  reply  as  follows : 

Did  e'er  a  cuif  tak'  up  a  quill, 

Wha  ne'er  did  aught  that  he  did  well, 

To  gar  the  muses  rant  an'  reel, 

An'  flaunt  and  swagger, 
Nae  doubt  ye'll  say  'tis  that  daft  chiel 

Old  Dite  McGregore  ! 

The  reply  is  in  the  same  strain,  and  may  serve  to 
give  the  reader  some  idea  of  the  old  gentleman  as  a 
religious  controversialist : 

My  reverend  friend  an'  kind  McGregore, 
Although  thou  ne'er  was  ca'd  a  bragger, 
Thy  muse,  I'm  sure  nane  e'er  was  glegger— 

Thy  Scottish  lays 
Might  gar  Socinians  fa'  or  stagger, 

E'en  in  their  ways. 

When  Unitarian  champions  dare  thee, 

Goliah-like,  an'  think  to  scare  thee, 

Dear  Davie,  fear  not,  they'll  ne'er  waur  thee; 

But  draw  thy  sling, 
Weel  loaded  frae  the  gospel  quarry, 

An'  gie  't  a  fling. 


ROBERT  DINSMORE.  271 

The  last  time  I  saw  him  he  was  chaffering  in  the 
market-place  of  my  native  village,  swapping  potatoes 
and  onions  and  pumpkins  for  tea,  coffee,  molasses, 
and,  if  the  truth  be  told,  New  England  rum.  Three 
score  years  and  ten,  to  use  his  own  words, 

Hung  o'er  his  back, 
And  bent  him  like  a  muckle  pack, 

yet  he  still  stood  stoutly  and  sturdily  in  his  thick 
shoes  of  cowhide,  like  one  accustomed  to  tread  in 
dependently  the  soil  of  his  own  acres — his  broad, 
honest  face,  seamed  by  care  and  darkened  by  expos 
ure  to  "all  the  airts  that  blow,"  and  his  white  hair 
flowing  in  patriarchal  glory  beneath  his  felt  hat.  A 
genial,  jovial,  large-hearted  old  man,  simple  as  a 
child,  and  betraying  neither  in  look  nor  manner 
that  he  was  accustomed  to 

Feed  on  thoughts  which  voluntary  move 
Harmonious  numbers. 

Peace  to  him !  A  score  of  modern  dandies  and 
sentimentalists  could  ill  supply  the  place  of  this 
one  honest  man.  In  the  ancient  burial-ground  of 
Windham,  by  the  side  of  his  "beloved  Molly," 
and  in  view  of  the  old  meeting-house,  there  is  a 
mound  of  earth,  where,  every  spring,  green  grasses 
tremble  in  the  wind  and  the  warm  sunshine  calls 
out  the  flowers.  There,  gathered  like  one  of  his 
own  ripe  sheaves,  the  farmer-poet  sleeps  with  his 
fathers. 


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